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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


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33g  tfje  .Same  Suitor: 

CONFESSIONS  OF  A  FRIVOLOUS 
GIRL. 

I  vol.     i6mo.     $1.25. 

A  new  edition  of  this  famous  and  fascinating  society 
novel,  which  has  recently  caused  such  a  profound  sensa 
tion  in  Europe  and  America,  by  laying  bare  the  amusing 
secrets  of  metropolitan  society. 


THE    LAMBS. 

A  Burlesque  Tragedy;  A  Satire  on  Wall  Street. 
Illustrated.    $1.00. 

The  cover  is  of  flexible  paper,  richly  illuminated  in 
colors,  with  a  fanciful  and  typical  design.  In  this  bur 
lesque  tragedy  Mr.  Grant  proves  once  more  his  claim  to 
the  "peculiar  witty  touch"  for  which  James  T.  Fields 
gave  him  credit,  and  justifies  J.  Boyle  O'Reilly's  verdict 
that  he  is  "  among  the  keenest  of  our  social  critics." 

JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  CO.,  Boston. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN 


BY 


ROBERT    GRANT 

AUTHOR  OF   "  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  FRIVOLOUS  GIRL," 
"THE  LITTLE  TIN  GODS,"  ETC. 


BOSTON 

JAMES   R.  OSGOOD  AND   COMPANY 
1884 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Copyright,  1S83, 
BY  ROBERT  GRANT. 


All  rights  reserved. 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


AN   AVERAGE    MAN. 


I. 


IT  was  a  fine  moonlight  night  in  early  winter. 
The  vicinity  of  Madison  Square  was  a  blaze  of 
light.  The  theatres  were  just  over,  and  a  stream  of 
people  was  pouring  along  the  pavements.  Horse- 
cars,  packed  to  overflowing,  jingled  by.  Demo 
cratic  omnibuses  thundered  over  the  road-bed,  side 
by  side  with  smartly  equipped  coupes  aglow  with 
lanterns.  The  huge  plate-glass  windows  of  the 
restaurants  flashed  a  dazzling  welcome.  All  was 
glitter  and  roar  and  rush  and  hurry.  The  universal 
movement  was  of  a  race  where  each  one  fears  to  be 
left  behind.  It  is  here  that  the  well-known  avenues 
of  fashion  and  trade  intersect  like  the  blades  of  a 
vast  pair  of  shears,  and  focus  the  rumble,  bustle, 
and  glare  of  the  metropolis. 

Among  the  crowd  that  on  this  particular  night 
peopled  this  famous  New  York  thoroughfare,  where 
Virtue  and  Vice  touched  each  other's  cheek, — 
where  Plenty  delights  to  flaunt,  and  Want  to  sun 
itself, — were  two  young  men  whom  a  less  hurried 


2  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

gait  distinguished  from  the  average  passer.  They 
had  been  to  the  play,  and  the  larger  of  the  two  —  a 
compact,  powerfully  built  fellow,  whose  hands  were 
deep  in  the  pockets  of  his  ulster  —  softly  hummed, 
between  the  puffs  at  his  cigarette,  an  air  from  the 
reigning  burlesque  of  the  day.  They  entered  Del- 
monico's,  an.d,  crossing  the  floor  of  the  restaurant, 
established  themselves  at  one  of  the  tables. 

"  Bring  a  chicken  salad,  Alphonse,  and  a  quart 
of  that  dry  Monopole,"  said  he  of  the  ulster,  whose 
name  was  Woodbury  Stoughton,  to  the  sinuous 
waiter  at  his  shoulder.  "  I  drink  Monopole  entirely 
now,"  he  added  sententiously,  turning  to  his  friend  ; 
and  his  glance  began  to  wander  in  note  of  the 
occupants  of  the  apartment,  which  was  gay  with 
patrons. 

Now  that  one  saw  him  distinctly,  he  was  a  hand 
some  young  man,  with  a  full  round  face,  void  of 
much  color,  large  brown  eyes  fringed  by  dark  lashes, 
and  a  thick  and  somewhat  blunt  nose.  Save  for  a 
crinkling  mustache  that,  without  shading  the  curves 
of  his  firm,  humorous  mouth,  stood  out  beyond  his 
cheeks,  he  was  smoothly  shaven  ;  but  his  com 
plexion  about  the  lower  jaw  had  the  bluish  tinge 
peculiar  to  those  whose  beard  is  dark.  Both  he  and 
his  vis-a-vis,  Arthur  Remington,  were  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  twenty-five.  The  latter  lacked  the  ro 
bust  beauty  of  his  friend.  His  was  a  more  delicate 
mould,  —  a  slim  figure,  somewhat  above  the  average 
height,  and  a  spare  cast  of  countenance,  with  fresh- 
colored,  prominent  features.  He  had  a  thoughtful, 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  3 

intelligent  expression,  and  eyes  that  were  earnest 
and  nervous.  He  looked  a  little  tired,  and,  while 
waiting  for  the  supper,  ate  bread  and  butter  with  a 
mechanical  eagerness. 

"  I  notice,"  continued  Stoughton,  drumming  with 
his  fingers  carelessly  on  the  table-cloth,  "  the  bride, 
Mrs.  Tom  Fielding,  is  back  again.  She  looks  lovely 
as  ever ;  I  don't  see  that  her  damask  cheek  shows 
any  traces  of  the  traditional  worm." 

"  She  was  Miss  Ethel  Linton,  was  n't  she  ?  " 
asked  Remington,  turning  slightly  in  the  direction 
indicated.  The  lady  in  question  was  one  of  a  merry 
party  at  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"  Yes.  The  story  is,  you  know,  she  was  in  love 
with  Willis  Blake,  but  her  stern  parent  lit  down  on 
her.  Willis  had  n't  a  dollar  to  write  after  his  name  ; 
and  Tom  Fielding  stood  all  ready  at  the  castle  gate, 
so  to  speak,  a-combing  his  milk-white  steed.  They 
say  she  and  old  man  Linton  had  some  pretty  lively 
times  together  ;  but  in  the  end  Tom  carried  off  the 
daughter." 

"  I  've  heard  something  of  that  sort  before.  Poor 
girl !  I  pity  her." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  It  is  n't  such  a  bad  thing, 
now,  to  marry  a  million.  Tom  is  n't  overburdened 
with  intellect,  to  be  sure  ;  but  I  guess  he 's  a  decent 
sort  of  fellow,  and  will  know  enough  to  let  her 
have  her  head.  There 's  no  use  looking  a  gift  horse 
in  the  mouth  merely  because  he  has  no  brains. 
Ah !  here  comes  the  salad. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Stoughton,  presently,  "  talking 


4  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

of  the  other  sex,  I  met  that  little  Cambridge  girl  you 
used  to  be  so  sweet  on  in  the  street  yesterday." 

"What!    Maud  Bolles  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Maud  Bolles  —  as  if  you  did  n't  know  well 
enough  !  She 's  married,  she  tells  me,  and  to  one 
of  those  scientific  duffers.  She  was  quite  vivacious 
for  her,  and  informed  me  that  her  husband  was 
engaged  at  present  in  weighing  thirty  guinea-pigs 
before  and  after  meals,  with  a  view  to  '  physiologi 
cal  induction.'  Well,  here  's  luck  !  "  and  Stoughton 
emptied  his  champagne  glass. 

Remington  laughed.  "  You  always  were  hard  on 
those  Cambridge  girls,  Wood.  I  suppose  they  were 
rather  provincial  as  a  lot,  but  somehow  or  other  I 
used  to  like  them.  They  seemed  to  appeal  to  the 
best  side  of  me,  and  had  the  effect  of  a  sort  of 
moral  tonic.  I  dare  say  it  would  have  been  a  first- 
rate  thing  for  me  if  I  'd  married  Maud  Bolles." 

"  Pshaw,  my  dear  fellow  !  Compare  her,  for  in 
stance,  with  the  girls  one  meets  in  New  York.  She 
can't  hold  a  candle  to  them  for  genuine  attraction. 
Spiritual  graces  are  all  very  well;  but  —  dash  it, 
Arthur  —  the  body  counts  for  something.  She 
had  a  pretty  face,  that  was  all." 

"  Oh,  yes !  You  're  right  enough,  I  dare  say. 
It's  strange  how  things  happen  in  this  world.  I 
was  pretty  well  cut  up  because  she  would  not  ac 
cept  me  Class-Day  evening."  Remington  leaned 
his  head  on  his  hand  thoughtfully.  "  Perhaps  now 
I  'm  glad  she  did  n't ;  and  yet  my  reasons  somehow 
don't  do  me  proud,  as  Tom  Walker  used  to  say." 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  5 

"Well,  it'll  be  all  the  same  a  hundred  years 
hence,  my  dear  fellow.  Some  more  salad  ? " 

"  No,  I  believe  not,  thank  you.  It 's  curious, 
is  n't  it,"  he  continued,  "  how  a  fellow  grows  more 
worldly  in  spite  of  himself  ?  New  York  knocks  the 
romance  out  of  one  very  fast.  I  should  like  to  be 
able  to  look  at  things  from  the  same  ideal  point  of 
view  I  used  to,  a  few  years  ago.  I  suppose  I  'm 
wiser  in  some  ways  to-day;  but  I 'm  a  cold,  calcu 
lating  creature  compared  to  what  I  was  then.  This 
city  life  does  n't  leave  one  much  time  for  theorizing. 
What  a  whirl  it  is ! "  he  added,  reflectively,  glan 
cing  about  him  ;  "  and  it  seems  to  increase  every 
day." 

Stoughton  scowled,  as  if  irritated  by  this  re 
minder  of  current  existence,  and  buried  his  face  in 
his  glass.  He  set  it  down  with  emphasis.  "It's 
all  a  race  for  wealth  here.  A  man  amounts  to 
nothing  in  New  York  unless  he  has  money."  He 
poured  out  some  more  champagne  gloomily.  "  Our 
people  have  no  idea  of  enjoyment.  They  don't  un 
derstand  the  meaning  of  the  word.  Our  ances 
tors  —  the  progenitors  of  those  prim  maidens  you 
were  admiring  just  now  —  went  on  the  principle 
that  everything  except  money-getting  was  wrong, 
and  here  you  have  the  result.  American  civiliza 
tion  is  based  on  the  theory  that  life  is  a  sort  of 
'twenty-minutes-for-dinner'  at  a  way-station,  and 
consequently  every  one  keeps  in  such  a  state  of 
nervousness,  lest  the  train  may  start  without  him, 
that  a  comfortable  square  meal  is  out  of  the  question. 


6  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

If  a  fellow  happened  to  dawdle  over  a  dish  and 
smack  his  lips  a  little,  he  was  sure  to  hear  some 
one  whisper,  '  It  '11  be  a  warm  day  for  that  shrimp 
before  long.'  Our  fathers  were  taught  from  the 
cradle  that  the  man  who  lingers  in  this  world  over 
the  peaches  and  cream  is  bound  to  get  left" 

Remington  laughed.  "At  least,  the  present 
generation  is  not  under  the  influence  of  any  such 
delusion." 

"  Exactly,  my  dear  fellow  ;  but  it  does  n't  know 
how  to  enjoy.  That 's  the  point.  Beauty  and  re 
pose  are  sealed  doors  to  our  race."  And  Stough- 
ton  proceeded  further  to  illustrate  his  argument 
with  the  somewhat  disdainful  air  common  to  him 
when  roused.  He  admitted,  he  said,  that  it  had 
dawned  even  upon  our  people  that,  after  all,  hap 
piness  is  legitimate  in  this  human  sphere.  The 
trouble  was,  nobody  understood  how  to  set  about 
obtaining  it.  Our  organisms  had  become  so  habit 
uated,  in  former  generations,  to  judging  everything 
by  so-called  standards  of  man's  invention,  which 
he  had  had  the  presumption  to  dub  divine,  they 
had  become  starved  and  contracted.  Our  sense  of 
the  beautiful,  the  artistic,  the  exquisite  in  life  was 
false  and  illiterate.  We  had  evolved  as  national 
traits  a  cold,  lofty  moral  standard,  not  lived  up  to, 
and  an  exceeding  commercial  cleverness.  We  had 
made  money,  and  how  were  we  spending  it  ?  In 
tasteless  extravagance  and  ostentation." 

Remington  was  silent  a  moment.  "  Yes ;  and 
yet,"  said  he,  "  underneath  it  all  there  lies  some- 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  7 

thing  better.  I  believe  that,  like  our  fathers,  we 
too  are  not  content  with  the  peaches  and  cream. 
We  are  at  heart  an  earnest  people." 

"  There  spoke  the  spirit  of  some  Puritan  ancestor. 
My  dear  fellow,  life  is  meant  to  be  enjoyed.  Why 
not  get  all  the  pleasure  one  can  out  of  it,  while  it 
lasts?"  And  Stoughton  sat  back  in  his  chair 
vehemently.  His  tone  betrayed  the  irritation  of 
one  conscious  of  somewhat  sharing  at  heart,  against 
his  will,  his  opponent's  sentiments. 

It  happened  at  this  moment  that  a  party  of  three 
or  four  young  men  entered  the  restaurant,  and 
passed  close  to  the  table  where  Remington  and 
Stoughton  were  sitting.  One  of  these  was  a  thick 
set  and  rather  coarse-looking  fellow,  who  swaggered 
a  little  as  he  walked,  with  a  bullet  head  and  a 
dogged  sort  of  expression  about  the  mouth  that 
suggested  a  bull-terrier.  The  points  of  his  dress 
were  exaggerated  and  somewhat  careless.  He 
darted  around  him  a  pair  of  keen,  dark  eyes,  as  if 
to  take  in  at  a  breath  the  occupants  of  the  place. 
Catching  sight  of  Stoughton,  he  nodded  good- 
humoredly,  and,  bending  over,  whispered  across 
the  back  of  his  hand,  in  passing  :  "  I  bought  that 
of  yours  at  seventy-five.  It  closed  six  bid,  and 
none  offered." 

"  Hold  on  a  minute,  Finchley,"  said  Stoughton, 
reaching  out  to  detain  the  new-comer.  "  Is  it  go 
ing  higher  ?  How  do  things  look  ?  " 

The  broker  placed  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoul 
der,  and  replied  in  a  confidential  tone  :  "  I  am  a 


8  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

bull  myself  upon  the  situation.  We  may  have 
temporary  reactions,  but  I  look  for  higher  prices. 
Mr.  Gould's  brokers,"  he  added,  with  an  increasing 
earnestness  of  whisper  calculated  to  convey  the 
impression  that  his  words  were  not  intended  for 
the  public,  "  have  been  large  buyers  to-day.  The 
earnings  of  the  roads  continue  to  be  enormous. 
Take  your  purchase,  for  instance  ;  the  possibilities 
of  that  stock  are  something  tremendous.  Its  land- 
grant  alone  is  an  empire  in  itself,  —  an  empire  in 
itself."  He  dwelt  upon  the  last  expression  with  an 
air  of  satisfaction.  In  the  very  ugliness  of  his  smile 
there  was  something  dangerously  winning. 

"  Who  's  that  ?  "  inquired  Remington,  as  the 
broker  rejoined  his  friends. 

"  That  ? "  said  Stoughton  absently,  as  if  lost  in 
calculation.  "  Oh,"  he  continued,  "  don't  you  know 
Finchley  ?  He  's  in  J.  C.  Withington  &  Company. 
He  used  to  be  a  clerk  in  their  concern,  but  proved 
so  serviceable  they  took  him  into  partnership.  I 
guess  he  makes  his  fifteen  thousand  a  year  fast 
enough." 

"  He  is  n't  very  much  to  look  at." 

"No,  he 's  a  genuine  cad  ;  but  he 's  smart.  That 's 
the  sort  of  man,  Arthur,"  he  added  presently,  "  to 
get  on  in  New  York.  He  is  n't  troubled  by  any  of 
the  subtle  considerations  that  trouble  you  and  me. 
He'd  call  that  kind  of  thing  filigree  work.  He 
knows  what  he  wants  to  do,  and  has  it  all  cut  out 
for  him.  It 's  his  ambition  in  life  to  make  a  mil 
lion,  and  he  will  before  he's  forty,  if  his  luck  does  n't 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  9 

go  back  on  him.  Any  theory  of  living  not  bottomed 
on  the  Almighty  Dollar  would  probably  strike  him 
as  '  hole-in-the-sky.'  I  tell  you  what,  old  man, 
we're  too  well  educated,  we've  got  too  many  fine 
spun  ideas,  to  succeed  in  this  place."  Stoughton 
spoke  a  little  bitterly.  He  paused,  and,  chancing 
to  look  up,  a  strange  expression  came  over  him. 
"  Shylock  has  a  daughter,"  he  murmured,  and  nod 
ded  toward  the  doorway. 

Remington  turned  his  head  in  the  direction  indi 
cated,  and  his  glance  fell  upon  a  young  girl  stand 
ing  on  the  threshold,  as  if  in  search  of  some  one 
in  the  restaurant.  She  was  wrapped  in  a  white 
opera-cloak.  The  light  threw  her  figure,  which 
was  sufficiently  tall,  into  perfect  relief.  Reming 
ton  felt  that  he  had  rarely,  if  ever,  seen  such  a 
beautiful  being.  Her  person  had  exchanged  the 
more  fragile  grace  of  extreme  maidenhood  for  a 
mature  but  equally  symmetrical  luxuriance  of  form. 
Her  large  blue  eyes  and  round  cheeks  —  tinged 
with  the  delicate  olive  of  the  brunette,  yet  suffused 
with  color,  and  soft  with  the  bloom  peculiar  to 
youth  —  were  crowned  with  a  superabundance  of 
fluffy  golden  hair,  that  strayed  far  down  upon  her 
forehead  in  rebellious  tangles.  Her  mouth  was 
slightly  prominent,  —  her  lips  full,  unwavering,  and 
so  brightly  red  as  to  display  to  advantage  the 
whiteness  of  her  small,  regular,  and  almost  cruelly 
incisive  teeth.  The  exuberance  of  the  smile  by 
which  she  now  indicated  her  discovery  of  the  ob 
ject  of  her  scrutiny  betrayed  a  keen  enjoyment  of 


IO  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

life,  and  a  plentiful  fund  of  vitality.  There  was 
something  vigorous,  fearless,  almost  bold,  still  not 
unrefined,  in  her  expression.  One  realized  the 
presence  of  a  splendid  animal.  You  felt,  in  regard 
to  her  possibilities,  as  one  feels  in  gazing  on  a  mas 
sive  block  of  shining  marble  before  the  sculptor's 
hand  has  fashioned  it. 

She  was  accompanied  by  a  slim  youth  of  albino 
type  and  lackadaisical  demeanor. 

Remington  had  started  at  the  apparition.  "  Who 
is  she,  Wood  ? "  and  his  face  wore  a  half-puzzled, 
half-amused  look. 

"  Miss  Idlevvild,  daughter  of  Peter  Idlewild,  the 
banker  and  railway  magnate.  She's  a  stunner, 
is  n't  she  ?  Nothing  of  the  pocket  Venus  about 
her ;  it 's  the  genuine  article." 

Remington  seemed  lost  in  thought.  "Yes,  it 
must  be  the  same,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "  But 
they're  not  Jews,  surely?"  he  suddenly  asked  of 
his  friend,  recalling  the  other's  previous  remark. 

"  My  language  was  merely  metaphorical.  I  have 
no  cause,  my  dear  fellow,  to  doubt  her  Aryan  de 
scent,"  said  Stoughton,  with  a  laugh.  "  But  whence 
all  this  mysterious  cogitation  ?  Do  you  know 
her  ? " 

"  It  was  on  a  steamboat,  four  summers  ago.  I 
was  going  to  Bar  Harbor.  It  was  the  end  of  my 
Junior  year,  and  I  was  feeling  terribly  blue,  I  re 
member,  over  a  condition  in  chemistry,"  said  Rem 
ington,  musingly.  "  There  happened  to  be  very  few 
people  on  board,  and  I  found  myself  sitting  next  to 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  II 

this  girl,  near  the  bow.  She  wasn't  as  pretty  as 
she  is  now,  and  was  more  slender-looking ;  but 
she  'd  have  passed  in  a  crowd  even  then.  Some 
how  or  other  we  got  into  conversation.  I  think  it 
was  a  shoaj  of  porpoises  that  brought  us  together. 
She  inquired  of  a  deck-hand  if  they  were  whales, 
and  —  " 

"And  you  were  on  deck  with  an  answer,"  laughed 
Stoughton.  "  I  've  been  there  myself." 

"  Exactly.  She  asked  me  what  time  it  was, 
which  broke  the  ice  completely.  I  discovered  she 
was  travelling  entirely  alone,  and  was  on  the  way 
to  visit  some  relatives  in  Maine.  She  seemed  in 
clined  to  be  communicative,  and  told  me  that  her 
name  was  Isabel  Idlewild,  that  her  mother  was  dead, 
and  her  father  in  business  in  New  York.  'And 
when  I  'm  eighteen,'  she  said,  '  I  'm  going  to  live 
there,  and  keep  house  for  him.  That  '11  be  in  two 
years.  I  'm  only  sixteen  now.  Don't  you  think  I 
look  older  tjian  that  ? '  I  remember  it  all  distinctly, 
as  if  it  had  been  yesterday.  There  was  a  moon,  and 
after  supper  we  went  and  sat  aft  of  the  paddle-box, 
where  we  could  see  the  glitter  on  our  wake.  She 
produced,  from  a  little  reticule  she  carried,  some 
oranges  and  a  paper  of  chocolates,  which  she  in 
sisted  on  my  sharing.  '  Oh  ! '  she  exclaimed,  'is  n't 
it  lovely  ? '  " 

"  What,  the  confectionery  ?  " 

"  No,  you  unsentimental  cynic.  She  had  refer 
ence  to  the  moon  and  the  general  surroundings. 
'  I  suppose,'  said  she,  with  a  little  sidelong  glance  I 


12  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

have  never  forgotten,  '  it 's  perfectly  dreadful  of  me 
to  be  talking  to  you,  and  telling  you  all  these  things. 
Do  you  know,  the  last  words  my  folks  said  to  me 
before  I  left  home  were  that  I  must  n't  talk  to  any 
one.  But  I  do  like  company ;  don't  you,  Mr.  — 
what  did  you  say  your  name  was  ? ' ' 

"  Num,  num  !  "  articulated  S  tough  ton,  banter- 
ingly. 

"  '  I  did  n't  say/  said  I,  with  a  laugh.  '  Oh,'  said 
she,  '  how  unkind !  but  you  will  write  it  in  my  al 
bum,  I  know.  I  always  make  my  travelling  friends 
write  their  names  in  my  album  ; '  and  therewith 
she  ferreted  out  of  the  aforesaid  reticule  a  small 
autograph  -book." 

"  Did  you  write  it?" 

"Yes.  I  thought  at  first  of  writing  a  fictitious 
name ;  but,  as  I  never  expected  to  see  her  again, 
I  did  n't  care  much.  We  sat  out  until  about  ten 
o'clock,"  continued  Remington,  "and  then  she  said 
it  was  time  for  her  to  go  to  bed.  I  tried  to  make 
her  stay  up  longer,  but  she  would  n't.  I  walked 
with  her  to  the  head  of  the  staircase.  She  was 
to  land  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning.  'You 
will  write  to  me  ? '  she  said,  putting  out  her  hand. 
'  Of  course,'  replied  I,  a  little  staggered  withal. 
'  Address  Maud  Vandyke,  care  of  the  postmaster,' 
she  continued;  'my  folks  mightn't  like  it  if  they 
knew  I  was  corresponding.  Good-night!'  and  I 
have  never  seen  her  since  until  to-day.  She  landed 
before  I  was  up." 

"  And  you  never  wrote  to  her  ? " 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  13 

"  No.  I  don't  know  why  exactly,  but  I  never 
did.  I  wonder  if  she  'd  remember  me.  I  've  half  a 
mind  to  speak  to  her,"  said  Remington,  turning 
slightly  so  as  to  command  a  glimpse  of  the  young 
beauty,  who  had  joined  some  friends  at  a  distant 
table.  "  You  say  her  father  is  a  banker  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Peter  Idlewild  &  Company.  That 's  he 
at  the  table  with  her.  The  blonde  youth  is  her 
brother.  The  old  man  is  one  of  your  self-made 
chaps,  who  came  to  New  York  as  a  boy,  without 
a  dollar  in  his  pocket,  and  has  laid  up  a  colossal 
fortune.  Now  he's  trying  to  get  into  society  on 
the  strength  of  his  money,"  said  Stoughton.  "  I  '11 
introduce  you,  if  you  like." 

"What !  do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"A  little,"  replied  Stoughton,  with  a  grin.  "I 
met  her  at  Newport  last  summer,  once  or  twice. 
They  had  the  Spencer  Colgate  cottage.  They  're 
rich,  you  know,  and  were  invited  about  more  or 
less.  She 's  a  debutante.  The  second  wife,  who  is 
quite  presentable,  is  anxious  to  cut  a  dash  ( in  the 
swim.'  That's  their  new  house  on  Fifth  Avenue, 
near  Sixty-second  Street,  —  the  one  that  looks 
big  enough  for  a  palace.  I  'm  invited  to  a  blow 
out  there  next  week.  Come  on  ;  I  '11  introduce 
you." 

Remington  offering  no  objection,  the  other  pres 
ently  led  the  way  across  to  where  the  Idlewilds 
were  sitting.  The  party  included  the  second  Mrs. 
Idlewild,  a  beautifully  dressed  but  languid-looking 
woman,  considerably  her  husband's  junior. 


14  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

"Why,  Mr.  Stoughton,  how  do  you  do?  We 
have  n't  met  for  ever  so  long,"  exclaimed  the  girl 
with  a  frank  graciousness,  putting  out  her  hand. 
"I  'm  real  glad  to  see  you  again."  Her  face  wore 
an  exuberance  of  expression  unusual  with  those 
whom  familiarity  with  the  world  has  taught  to 
temper  the  display  of  their  emotions. 

"Permit  me,  Miss  Idlewild,  to  present  my  friend, 
Mr.  Remington."  Stoughton  spoke  with  the  air 
of  subtle  gallantry,  of  self-mortification,  that  charms 
a  woman. 

As  Remington's  eyes  encountered  those  of  the 
young  beauty,  she  blushed.  "  I  think  we  have  met 
before,  Miss  Idlewild,"  he  said. 

"  I  remember  perfectly."  She  looked  him  now 
full  in  the  face  with  fearless,  wide-open  eyes,  her 
head  coquettishly  poised  on  one  side.  Stoughton 
had  turned  to  speak  with  her  parents.  "  But  you 
never  wrote  ;"  and  a  mischievous  smile  parted  her 
reel  lips,  between  which  her  small  white  teeth 
shone  like  pearls. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  n't  answer  me.  But  is 
there  no  way  in  which  I  can  condone  my  offence  ? " 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  '11  forgive  you  if  you  come 
and  see  me,  Mr.  Remington.  And  where  have  you 
been  all  these  years  ?  Let  me  see  !  Why,  it 's  four 
since  we  met,  —  four  years  last  summer.  Father 
sent  for  me  that  autumn,  and  I  Ve  lived  here  ever 
since.  Father's  married  again.  That's  mother 
with  him.  Do  you  think  I  've  changed  much, 
Mr.  Remington?" 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  15 

"  I  think  you  've  become  very  beautiful,"  whis 
pered  the  young  man. 

"  Really  ?  "  She  darted  a  pleased  little  glance  at 
him,  then  dropped  her  eyes  confusedly.  "  Oh,  but 
you  must  n't  say  things  like  that.  I  'm  grown  up 
now,  and  am  going  to  be  dreadfully  proper,"  she 
said,  drawing  herself  up  with  mock  dignity.  "  You 
know  I  'm  just  'out'  now,  and  —  oh,  Mr.  Reming 
ton,  I  want  you  to  come  to  my  party.  It 's  next 
week,  and  I  '11  get  mother  to  send  you  an  invitation." 
She  paused  a  moment  while  Remington  bowed  his 
acknowledgments.  "  It  is  funny,  is  n't  it,  we  should 
meet  again  after  so  long  ? "  she  said.  "  What  a 
nice  time  we  had  that  evening !  Do  you  remember 
how  lovely  it  was  on  deck,  —  and  the  chocolates, 
and  the  album,  and  all  ?  I  suppose  it  was  dread 
fully  improper  of  me,  was  n't  it  ?  Well,  I  shall 
make  up  for  it  by  being  a  perfect  icicle.  Do  tell 
me,  Mr.  Remington,  is  Mr.  Stoughton  a  great  friend 
of  yours  ? " 

Remington  answered  that  they  had  always  been 
intimate.  "  We  were  classmates  in  college." 

"  Really  ?  Oh,  then  he  must  be,  of  course.  He  's 
very  handsome,  is  n't  he  ?  But  I  'm  afraid  of  him," 
she  added,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  I  always  feel  as 
if  he  did  n't  quite  approve  of  me."  As  she  glanced 
in  the  direction  of  Stoughton,  who  was  still  con 
versing  with  her  parents,  Remington  detected,  as 
he  thought,  a  trace  of  something  half  defiant,  as  it 
were,  in  her  eyes.  "  But  I  want  to  introduce  you 
to  father,  Mr.  Remington." 


1 6  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

Peter  Idlewild  was  a  well-preserved  man  about 
sixty  years  old,  of  sturdy  frame.  His  face  was 
one  which  would  at  once  command  the  atten 
tion.  A  large,  beak-like  nose ;  a  deep-red  com 
plexion  ;  a  solid  jaw;  a  firm  mouth,  the  expression 
of  which  was  shaded  but  not  concealed  by  a  stubby, 
bristling,  iron-gray  mustache,  a  trifle  lighter  than 
his  still  abundant  hair ;  and  a  pair  of  glittering, 
deep-set  eyes,  of  cold,  metallic  light,  guarded  by 
bushy  eyebrows  of  that  same  iron-gray, —  such 
were  its  distinguishing  features  ;  and,  as  an  offset 
to  these  sterner  lineaments,  a  smile  —  his  daughter's 
smile  intensified  —  suggesting  confidences  and  a 
deep  interest  in  your  welfare,  and  breathing  that 
peculiar  power  which  word-painters  of  our  day  style 
magnetism.  One  saw  at  a  glance  that  it  was  from 
him  that  the  daughter  had  inherited  her  superb 
physique  and  vigor. 

"  Father,  this  is  Mr.  Remington.  Mr.  Reming 
ton  and  I  are  old  friends ; "  and  she  shot  a  demure 
smile  at  the  young  man. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  I  am  very  happy  to 
make  your  acquaintance,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Idlewild,  in 
a  deep  bass  voice,  — "very  happy  to  make  your 
acquaintance." 

He  introduced  Remington  to  his  wife,  and  in 
sisted  upon  ordering  more  champagne.  His  voice 
and  gestures  were  those  of  one  who  courts  noto 
riety.  It  almost  seemed  that,  as  if  aware  good 
breeding  lies  beyond  the  compass  of  even  an  iron 
will  or  cunning  fancy,  he  enjoyed  a  revenge  in 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  I/ 

flaunting  his  wealth  in  the  face  of  the  community. 
In  his  presence,  however,  one  felt  unconsciously  a 
dwarfing  of  self,  if  no  effort  were  made  to  withstand 
its  influence,  —  realized  the  fascination  that  flows 
from  a  superior,  mastering  vitality.  After  the  first 
outburst  of  hospitality,  he  sat  back  in  his  chair 
sipping  his  wine  with  an  important  and  sphinx-like 
gravity,  while  Remington  talked  to  his  wife. 

"Mr.  Stoughton  tells  me  you  were  classmates  at 
Harvard,  Mr.  Remington.  We  saw  Mr.  Stoughton 
quite  frequently  last  summer  at  Newport.  I  sup 
pose  you  know  Newport  very  well  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Idlewild,  in  her  listless  way.  "  I  shall  be  glad  to 
see  you  at  our  house  on  Wednesday  of  next  week. 
My  daughter  expects  a  few  of  her  friends." 

A  few  minutes  later  Mrs.  Idlewild  rose  to  depart. 
There  was  some  little  delay  about  the  carriage,  and 
the  young  men  stood  chatting  with  Miss  Isabel  in 
the  vestibule.  While  thus  engaged,  the  gay  party 
previously  alluded  to  passed  out,  with  velvet  step, 
and  wafting  a  faint  odor  as  of  violets.  A  tall,  lithe 
young  woman  of  graceful  bearing  turned  her  face, 
which  peeped  forth  from  the  folds  of  the  drapery 
wound  about  her  head,  back  over  her  shoulder, 
and  nodded  in  a  friendly  manner  to  Woodbury 
Stoughton.  He  raised  his  hat,  and  flew  to  her 
side. 

"  Permit  me  to  see  you  to  your  carriage,  Mrs. 
Fielding."  . 

The  aristocratic  poise  of  her  head,  the  springy 
piquancy  of  her  motions,  suggested  a  thorough- 


1 8  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

bred  race-horse.  Her  face  expressed  excessive 
refinement  and  some  physical  delicacy.  It  was 
pretty,  but  pale  and  a  trifle  pinched.  Its  features 
were  small,  save  a  long,  thin,  pointed  nose.  The 
first  bloom  of  youth  was  gone.  Her  beauty  was 
that  of  a  Marshal  Niel  rose,  of  which  just  the 
edges  of  the  leaves  have  begun  to  curl  and  faintly 
to  discolor. 

"That's  the  bride,  Mrs.  Tom  Fielding,"  whis 
pered  Miss  Idlewild  to  Remington.  "  I  saw  her 
at  Newport,  when  she  was  Miss  Linton.  She's 
lovely,  is  n't  she  ?  " 

"  Yes.  That  sleepy-looking  man  with  the  brown 
beard  is  her  husband.  What  a  heavenly  .night ! 
It  reminds  me  of  four  years  ago." 

She  was  tripping  to  the  carriage  now  on  the  arm 
of  the  young  man.  "  Was  n't  it  lovely  !  Ah,  but 
you  never  wrote  !  "  she  murmured  banteringly,  and 
her  clear,  unconventional  laugh  fell  upon  the  night 
air. 

Stoughton,  who  had  seen  Mrs.  Fielding  into  her 
coupe,  came  hurrying  forward  to  offer  his  assist 
ance,  and  a  few  merry  words  passed  between  the 
party.  "  Good-night,  gentlemen,  good-night,"  said 
the  deep  bass  of  Mr.  Idlewild.  The  young  men 
lifted  their  hats,  and  the  powerful,  prancing  horses 
bore  away  their  lovely  burden. 


II. 


young  men  lit  their  cigarettes,  and  saun- 
-*•  tered  slowly  along  the  pavement.  The  night 
was  cool  and  tranquil.  The  moon  had  set,  but  the 
heavens  were  brilliant  with  the  frosty  glitter  which 
the  stars  emit  in  the  clear  atmosphere  of  winter. 
Much  of  the  roar  and  bustle  of  the  neighborhood 
had  subsided  ;  yet  the  reverberations  of  Broadway, 
dulled  by  distance,  still  fell  upon  the  ear  like  the 
ceaseless  rush  of  a  river  heard  by  one  who  wakes 
at  night  amid  the  deathly  stillness  of  the  woods. 
The  ferrules  of  their  canes  struck  the  sidewalk 
with  the  sharp,  distinct  ring  that  betokens  quiet 
surroundings. 

Their  homes  lay  at  some  little  distance  up-town, 
and  they  walked  and  smoked,  lost  in  their  own  re 
flections.  How  susceptible  we  mortals  are  to  the 
influences  of  the  natural  forces !  Our  nervous 
systems  respond  to  the  waves  of  light  and  sound, 
to  shadow  and  to  lustre,  to  silence  and  to  turmoil, 
even  as  the  chords  of  a  piano  to  pressure  upon  the 
keys.  Who  shall  escape  his  moods  ?  We  vary 
from  hour  to  hour.  A  kiss,  a  crowd,  a  peaceful 
night,  an  apple-blossom,  the  pale  cold  face  of  one 


2O  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

beloved,  —  what  a  widely  opposite  effect  each  one  of 
these  has  upon  the  organism  !  And  what,  indeed, 
is  human  nature  but  a  series  of  varied  and  recur 
ring  emotions,  strung  like  pearls  upon  the  thread 
of  individual  existence,  which  is  bounded  by  mys 
tery  at  either  end  ? 

Arthur  Remington  and  Woodbury  Stoughton 
had  alike  reached  one  of  those  halting-places  in 
the  struggle  for  existence,  where  even  the  most 
impetuous  and  least  self-questioning  natures  have 
the  desire  and  opportunity  to  pause  and  think. 
The  precious  boon  of  pondering  on  what  has  been 
and  is  to  be,  out  of  the  sweep  of  the  current,  was 
theirs  for  a  moment.  This  had  been  more  literally 
true  of  their  condition  three  months  previous,  at 
which  time  they  had  returned  to  New  York  to 
settle  down  to  the  serious  business  of  life,  as  it  is 
called.  The  eight  preceding  years  had  been  passed 
away  from  their  native  city.  They  both  had  been 
graduated  at  Harvard,  and  subsequently  had  studied 
law  and  spent  a  year  in  travelling  abroad.  Now 
they  had  come  back  to  earn  their  living,  after  hav 
ing  enjoyed  the  best  advantages  our  civilization 
affords  in  the  way  of  education.  The  social  posi 
tion  of  both  was  likewise  of  the  best.  They  be 
longed  to  families  that  had  for  several  generations 
been  people  of  consideration  in  society.  But  al 
though  this  was  the  case,  each  had  his  way  to 
make  in  the  world.  Beyond  some  five  thousand 
dollars  apiece,  they  had  nothing  of  their  own. 
Their  fathers,  as  is  generally  the  case  in  America, 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  21 

had  made  every  effort  to  give  them  an  excellent 
education,  and  now  expected  them  to  take  care  of 
themselves  as  soon  as  possible.  The  fathers  were 
neither  of  them  men  of  large  fortune,  and  had 
need  of  all  their  income  to  provide  for  the  expenses 
of  a  handsome  establishment  and  growing  family. 
The  young  men  still  lived  at  home.  They  had 
just  been  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  had  set  up  law 
offices  of  their  own. 

Woodbury  Stoughton  habitually  produced  the 
effect  of  an  indifferent  and  rather  lazy  person,  with 
a  dash  of  the  cynic.  His  conversation  and  bearing 
were  apt  to  suggest  one  to  whom  enthusiasm  or 
serious  endeavor  was  at  least  distasteful,  if  not  a 
theme  for  satire.  It  had  been  seemingly  his  desire 
while  in  college  to  figure  as  a  sceptic  of  all  that  was 
intangible  and  otherwise  than  mundane.  Watching 
him  stroll  along  the  streets  of  Cambridge,  with  an 
air  both  fastidious  and  reserved,  a  bull-pup  at  his 
heels,  his  fellows  tacitly  pigeon-holed  him  as  an 
embryo  Chesterfield.  For,  despite  his  apathetic 
ways,  there  were  curious  whispers  in  circulation 
concerning  him.  His  intimates  declared  that  he 
was  immensely  clever.  It  was  said  he  had  read 
everything.  Besides,  he  was  a  handsome  fellow,  of 
commanding  presence,  and  even  those  who  resented 
his  exclusive  demeanor  could  not  deny  his  ability 
to  converse  fluently  and  with  pungency.  Several 
years  of  schooling  abroad  as  a  child  had  given  him 
a  familiarity  with  foreign  languages  that  served  as 
an  additional  means  of  prestige.  It  came,  in  short, 


22  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

to  be  currently  stated  that,  if  Woodbury  Stoughton 
only  chose  to  work,  he  could  have  any  place  on 
the  rank-list,  —  a  measure  of  praise  much  more 
flattering  in  the  eyes  of  his  classmates  than  actual 
success  would  have  been.  He  apparently,  how 
ever,  studied  but  little  the  college  requirements, 
preferring  —  as  those  who  voiced  his  utterances 
said  —  to  read  in  self-chosen  directions.  He  pro 
fessed  to  be  especially  enamored  of  literature  which 
presented  most  vividly  the  philosophy  of  an  epi 
grammatic  pessimism.  Aphorisms  from  Voltaire, 
La  Rochefoucauld,  and  others  of  that  class,  were 
constantly  on  his  lips. 

The  young  ladies  of  the  university  town,  who — 
with  the  example  of  the  Trojan  Helen  constantly 
in  mind,  so  to  speak — -were  invariably  suspicious  of 
Parisian  manners,  did  not  approve  of  Mr.  Stoughton. 
To  begin  with,  he  seemed  to  prefer  the  parties  in 
the  adjacent  Boston  to  their  own  "  sociables,"  which 
was  an  excellent  reason  for  suspecting^  him  of  an 
inclination  toward  worldliness  ;  and  when  it  was 
whispered  about  that  he  was  acquainted  with  sev 
eral  actresses,  the  Puritan  maidens  took  refuge  in 
the  dreadful  anathema  that  there  "  was  nothing 
in  him."  They  even  took  Arthur  Remington, 
who  was  a  favorite  in  Cambridge  social  circles, 
to  task  for  his  intimacy  with  the  handsome  Lo 
thario.  Miss  Bolles,  who  was  rightly  supposed 
to  possess  great  influence  with  the  former,  was 
deputed  to  inquire  what  there  was  to  recommend 
Mr.  Stoughton. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  23 

"  Is  n't  he  dreadfully  fast  ? "  asked  the  suburban 
beauty,  with  a  severe  look  in  her  serious  face. 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Why,  how  could  you  have 
got  such  an  idea  ?  "  answered  Remington.  "  He 's 
fond  of  having  a  good  time,  like  the  rest  of  us,  but 
that 's  all.  No ;  Woodbury  Stoughton  is  one  of 
the  ablest  men  in  the  class." 

"  Did  n't  he  stand  very  low  on  the  rank-list  last 
year  ? " 

"  That 's  no  test.  He  could  have  had  any  rank 
if  he  had  chosen  to  study." 

Miss  Bolles,  far  from  convinced,  shook  her  head. 
To  have  the  opportunity  of  improving  one's  self 
and  not  to  do  so,  seemed  to  her  earnest  spirit  quite 
incomprehensible.  How  many  young  men  there 
were  through  the  country  struggling  to  obtain  the 
means  for  a  college  education,  and  here  was  a  man 
—  and  with  natural  ability,  too  —  throwing  away 
his  advantages  !  It  was  simply  dreadful,  and  Mr. 
Remington  was  to  blame  in  seeking  to  defend 
him. 

Nevertheless,  the  same  young  ladies  regarded 
this  black  sheep  with  a  certain  awe  that  was  not 
perhaps  void  of  secret  admiration.  They  could 
not  help  admitting  that  he  was  handsome.  When 
they  met  him  in  the  streets  they  bowed  with  fri 
gidity,  to  be  sure  ;  but  there  was  an  excitement 
about  the  encounter  for  which  they  could  not  ex 
actly  account,  and  which  the  more  analytical  were 
conscious  was  not  consistent  with  the  disapproval 
they  harbored.  As  time  went  on,  indeed,  a  Miss 


24  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

Margaret  Lamb,  one  of  the  sweetest  and  most 
simple-minded  of  the  set,  allowed  herself  to  become 
intimate  with  Stoughton,  who  had  made  an  excep 
tion  in  her  favor  in  his  criticism  of  Cambridge 
manners.  She  presently  gave  it  to  be  known  that 
she  had  no  idea  there  was  so  much  in  Mr.  Stough 
ton,  and  that  he  was  really  very  much  in  earnest, 
and  so  clever.  Some  of  her  companions,  as  a  con 
sequence,  modified  a  little  their  views  in  his  regard  ; 
but  the  majority  preferred  to  think  that  Margaret 
had  fallen  a  victim  to  her  own  vanity. 

Remington,  on  the  other  hand,  had  been  looked 
upon  in  his  college  days  as  a  tolerably  easy-going 
fellow,  with  amiable,  unpretentious  manners.  There 
was  a  nervous  energy  about  him  always  seeking 
vent,  which  had  made  him  conspicuous  in  various 
fields  of  college  enterprise.  His  exertions  in  the 
line  of  athletics,  theatricals,  and  the  like,  were  a 
contrast  to  the  elegant  inactivity  of  Stoughton,  who 
used  to  smile  withal  at  the  other's  restlessness.  He 
enjoyed  life  with  a  keenness  that  was  visible  in  his 
expression.  In  the  way  of  studies  he,  too,  had  been 
negligent,  but  from  a  buoyant  heedlessness  rather 
than  premeditation.  It  was  always  his  intention  to 
work,  and  his  penitence  for  his  idleness  was  as  sin 
cere  as  it  was  apt  to  prove  transitory.  But,  though 
impetuous  and  volatile,  there  had  ever  been  a  cur 
rent  of  earnest  seriousness  beneath  the  bubbling 
surface  of  his  days.  There  were  those  among  his 
classmates  who  styled  him  visionary,  and  instanced 
in  support  thereof  his  rhapsodizing  talk  at  times, 


AX  AVERAGE  MAX.  r; 

and  the  tendency  he  showed  for  the  discussion  of 
serious  and  sentimental  problems  with  his  girl  in 
timates.  His  devotion  to  Miss  Bolles  was  a  well- 
known  circumstance,  and  some  of  his  associates,  be 
it  said  to  their  shame,  looked  upon  the  pale,  slim 
professor  s  daughter,  whose  face  reflected  the  fervor 
of  her  earnest  views  of  life,  in  the  light  of  an  inflic 
tion.  In  fact,  before  the  close  of  his  undergraduate 
course,  the  influences  of  sobering  reflection  had 
begun  to  manifest  themselves  in  his  conduct,  and 
he  became  much  more  assiduous  at  his  studies. 
Commencement-Day  found  him  above  the  middle 
of  his  class  on  the  rank-list ;  but,  to  the  surprise  of 
almost  everybody,  Woodbury  Stoughtonfs  percent 
age  for  the  Senior  year  was  but  two  or  three 
removed  from  the  highest. 

Remington  was  one  of  the  few  to  whom  Stough- 
ton's  sudden  prowess  was  no  revelation.  He  was 
quite  aware  of  the  fire  that  burned  beneath  his 
friend's  calm  and  indifferent  exterior,  —  a  fire  which 
Stoughton  had  ever  shrunk  from  acknowledging, 
but  which  was  just  as  real  as  the  restless  energy 
which  showed  itself  in  the  other's  very  eyes.  Their 
intimacy  had  been  a  singular  one.  The  dissimilarity 
of  their  traits  had  seemingly  attracted  them  toward 
each  other.  The  calm,  passive  force  of  Stoughton, 
his  deliberate  ways,  suggestive  of  reserve  power, 
and  his  casuistic  cleverness  had  alike  appealed  to 
his  more  plastic  companion  ;  and  the  former  had  in 
turn  silently  watched,  with  a  curious  interest,  the 
development  of  Remington's  nervous  nature.  They 


26  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

were  known  as  great  cronies  ;  but  their  bond  of 
sympathy  largely  consisted  in  antagonism  to  each 
other's  ideas.  Stoughton  had  not  been  able  to  dis 
guise  from  his  friend  the  secret  ambition  within 
him  ;  but  even  in  confidential  moments  his  attitude 
was  apologetic,  as  if  he  considered  all  enthusiasm 
a  weakness.  While  unable  to  conceal  his  own  sus 
ceptibility  to  the  aspirations  common  to  the  sober 
moments  of  youth,  he  inveighed  against  the  same 
as  stumbling-blocks  in  the  path  of  happiness. 

Many  were  the  rambles  they  used  to  take  to 
gether  on  Sunday  afternoons,  when  their  class 
mates  who  lived  in  Boston  had  gone  home.  They 
were  wont  to  discuss  all  sorts  of  questions,  and 
with  great  heat,  too  ;  for  Stoughton  was  a  bitter 
opponent  of  authority,  and  resented  the  old-time 
arguments  upon  which  his  comrade  founded  his 
conclusions.  And  Remington,  while  he  deplored 
the  upsetting  of  the  opinions  he  fancied  established 
forever,  could  not  help  admitting  that  the  other  was 
very  clever,  and  that,  perhaps,  what  he  said  re 
garding  the  automatism  of  human  beings  might 
have  some  truth  in  it.  For  Woodbury  Stoughton 
professed  great  admiration  for  the  doctrines  of  the 
materialists,  and  delighted  to  style  himself  a  victim 
of  the  idiosyncrasies  of  his  ancestors.  He  used  to 
quote  the  Frenchman's  remark  that  "to  reform  a 
man  you  must  begin  with  his  grandmother,"  and 
claimed  the  laws  of  heredity  to  be  the  arbiters  of 
fate.  Opinions  ?  Beliefs  ?  Who  dared  claim  (so 
he  argued)  that  any  one  set  of  opinions  or  beliefs 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  2/ 

bore  the  stamp  of  a  supernatural  approval  ?  Who 
was  prepared  to  assert  that  what  men  symbolized 
as  divine  commands  was  aught  but  accumulated 
human  experience  of  what  had  been  best  for  the 
race,  —  handed  down  through  the  centuries  from 
father  to  son,  until  it  had  crystallized  as  an  instinct 
of  the  organism  and  been  accredited  to  a  God  ? 
Best,  —  and  what  was  best  ?  The  eternal  strife 
went  on,  and  on,  and  on.  Still,  the  stronger  sur 
vived  and  the  weaker  perished.  To  earn  their 
bread,  a  pitiful  mass  of  beings  toiled,  day  in,  day 
out,  in  reeking  factories  and  workshops,  .and  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  that  their  more  prosperous 
brethren  might  live  in  luxury.  Here,  too,  the 
teachings  of  one  were  stamped  with  the  disap 
proval  of  his  neighbor.  What  some  called  right 
there  were  others  to  stigmatize  as  wrong.  The 
laws  of  human  device  varied  with  succeeding  gen 
erations,  and  those  of  nature  ever  found  a  new  in 
terpretation.  Still,  a  portion  claimed  as  of  divine 
revelation  doctrines  to  which  the  rest  refused  their 
faith,  and  the  creeds  of  the  world  were  as  diverse 
as  its  peoples.  And  so  from  age  to  age  man  la 
bored  his  allotted  time,  died,  and  was  gathered  to 
his  fathers  ;  and  what  came  after,  no  one,  not  even 
the  wisest,  knew. 

Those  delightful  four  years  of  undergraduate  life 
came  to  an  end  at  last.  Class-Day  was  at  hand, 
and  after  that  they  were  both  to  enter  the  law 
school.  Remington  was  chosen  one  of  the  mar 
shals  of  his  class,  an  office  which  is  commonly  the 


28  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

reward  of  popularity  ;  and  his  spirits  were  of  the 
best  as  he  stood  under  the  flower-belted  memorial 
elm,  conducting  what  is  familiarly  known  to  Har 
vard  men  as  "  the  exercises  at  the  tree."  During 
these  rites,  which  are  witnessed  annually  by  en 
thusiastic  audiences  of  maidens  in  muslin  and  their 
chaperons,  ranged  on  benches  around  two  sides  of 
a  quadrangle,  or  looking  down  from  the  dormitory 
window-seats  overhead,  the  graduating  class,  hav 
ing  exchanged  the  spick-and-span  apparel  of  the 
morning  for  highly  nondescript  garments,  commit 
every  kind  of  student  eccentricity.  They  cheer 
the  favorite  professors,  the  victorious  "  crews  "  and 
"  nines,"  and  even  extend  their  patronage  to  the  col 
lege  "  goodies,"  which  is  the  still  more  aged  title  of 
the  venerable  dames  who  have  the  charge  of  rooms. 
When  at  last  subjects  for  applause  are  no  longer  to 
be  found,  the  heroes  of  the  occasion,  hand  clasped 
in  hand,  begin  to  revolve  about  the  ancient  tree, 
which  wears  a  vast  band  of  choice  flowers  around 
its  trunk,  far  removed  from  the  grasp  of  the  tall 
est  of  the  revellers.  The  younger  classes  also  rise 
from  the  turf  upon  which  they  have  been  lounging, 
and  form  three  other  rings,  which  begin  to  revolve 
with  alternate  motion.  The .  Sophomores  follow 
the  movement  of  the  graduating  class,  but  the  Jun 
iors  and  Freshmen  turn  from  right  to  left.  The 
class  song  is  sung,  and  after  it  "  Fair  Harvard,"  the 
darling  air  of  the  university ;  and  then,  as  the  trip 
ping  feet  speed  faster,  the  voices  take  up  the  burden 
of  "  Auld  Lang  Syne,"  and  lift  it  to  the  stars.  The 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  29 

pace  grows  frantic  now  ;  the  arms  swing  with  wild, 
ecstatic  energy ;  and  at  a  given  signal  the  two 
hundred  youths,  who  are  supposed  to  be  men  from 
this  day  forth,  rush  in  an  indiscriminate  mass  to 
ward  the  elm  to  tear  the  flowers  from  their  rest 
ing-place.  Regardless  of  appearances,  or  even  of 
justice,  they  swarm  up  the  mammoth  trunk  on  the 
backs  of  each  other.  The  giant  lifts  the  nimble 
stripling  upon  his  shoulders  until  his  ringers  touch 
the  posies,  and  robs  him  to  the  last  bud  as  he  hauls 
him  down.  It  is  sauve  qui peut  with  a  vengeance. 
The  weakest  go  to  the  -wall,  or  rather  to  the  earth, 
and  the  strong  man  carries  off  the  prize  to  his  Dul- 
cinea.  It  is  a  mimic  foretaste  of  the  great  world 
into  which  they  will  be  let  loose  upon  the  morrow. 

So  at  least  had  reflected  Woodbury  Stoughtcn, 
as  he  stood  a  little  apart  watching  the  scrimmage 
with  a  smile  that  was  half  disdainful.  He  was  too 
lazy,  as  he  would  have  expressed  it,  to  make  so 
much  exertion  for  the  sake  of  a  few  roses.  There 
was  nobody  in  especial  to  whom  he  wished  to 
present  them,  and  he  would  get  heated  for  nothing. 
Theretore  he  let  the  others  do  the  climbing,  and 
amused  himself  with  the  sight  of  their  vicissitudes. 
He  would  have  to  encounter  plenty  of  rough-and- 
tumble  in  the  struggle  of  the  next  few  years  with 
out  beginning  now.  Holloa!  there  was  Arthur 
Remington  barking  up  the  tree,  like  a  good  one. 
Smithson,  the  university  stroke,  had  him  by  the 
legs,  and  was  lifting  him  toward  the  goal.  A  little 
farther,  —  there,  he  had  a  handful  now,  and  looked 


30  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

with  beaming,  mocking  eyes  triumphantly  down  at 
the  envious  faces  below.  "  This  way,  that 's  a  good 
fellow,  Remington,"  "  Remember  your  friends," 
"  Pull  him  down,"  and  the  like,  rose  from  a  score 
of  throats,  until  attention  was  diverted  by  the  suc 
cess  of  another  aspirant  who  had  clambered  to 
eminence  under  cover  of  the  confusion.  Just  then, 
Remington,  who  was  casting  favors  right  and  left, 
caught  sight  of  Stoughton  looking  up  at  him,  and 
with  a  simple  wave  of  his  arm  tossed  in  his  direc 
tion  a  choice  bunch  of  red  roses  which  he  had 
intended  to  reserve  for  himself.  A  dozen  hands 
grasped  at  them  as  they  floated  downward,  but 
Stoughton  was  not  the  man  to  suffer  himself  to  be 
robbed  under  his  very  eyes.  He  strove  valiantly 
for  his  property,  and  succeeded  in  carrying  off  the 
major  portion  of  the  blushing  blossoms.  While  he 
was  battling,  the  patience  of  the  stalwart  Smithson 
apparently  gave  way,  and  with  it  the  support  of 
Remington,  who  came  tumbling  to  the  earth, 
clinching,  however,  with  the  tenacity  of  desper 
ation  a  few  crumpled  remains  of  flowers.  The 
tree  was  entirely  stripped  now.  In  fact,  the  work 
of  demolition  had  been  vastly  shorter  than  has 
been  its  narration,  and  the  crowd,  well  pleased  at 
the  success  of  the  spectacle,  already  was  beginning 
to  scatter  in  the  direction  of  the  "  teas." 

A  spur  in  the  side  of  Remington's  native  energy 
had  been  the  desire  to  obtain  from  the  rose-belt  a 
bouquet  de  corsage  for  Miss  Bolles,  to  whom  he  had 
promised  to  show  later  on  in  the  evening,  when 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  31 

the  band  began  to  play  and  the  college-green  was 
alive  with  lanterns,  the  room  that  he  had  occupied 
during  the  four  years  of  his  student  life.  It  was  a 
sorry-looking  bunch  that  he  had  carried  off,  so  he 
reflected,  as  he  presented  them  to  the  young  lady, 
with  a  stammering,  half-audible  remark,  embodying 
the  hope  that  she  would  keep  them  to  remember 
him  by.  Nor  did  they  look  much  better,  as  he 
scanned  them  by  and  by,  from  a  seat  beside  his 
study-table,  nestling  in  her  waistband.  Miss  Bolles 
had  possession  of  the  cushioned  window-seat,  and 
her  slim,  girlish  profile,  surmounted  by  a  jaunty  chip 
hat  and  large  white  feather,  were  outlined  as  in  a 
frame  against  the  evening  air.  She  held  between 
her  thumb  and  finger  the  cord  of  the  shade,  and 
gently  and  pensively  swayed  the  tassel  to  and  fro, 
while  the  strains  of  music  and  hum  of  voices  floated 
up  from  below. 

He  had  been  too  generous  at  -the  tree.  He 
ought  to  have  kept  the  best  for  her  instead  of  giv 
ing  them  away.  He  had  been  in  a  position  to  win 
for  her  the  choicest  of  all,  and  yet  there  was  noth 
ing  to  show  for  his  endeavors  but  these  faded 
sprigs.  What  had  Woodbury  done  with  his  ?  he 
wondered.  He  had  seen  Miss  Lamb  wandering 
about  at  Jack  Hewson's  tea  looking  quite  discon 
solate,  despite  the  attendance  of  a  cavalier  or  two. 
Very  likely  Woodbury  had  found  her  by  this  time. 

What  was  he  doing  here  himself?  Why  had 
he  persuaded  Miss  Bolles  to  climb  the  winding, 
narrow  staircase  to  his  nest  in  the  top  story  of  old 


32  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

Holworthy?  He  had  been  looking  forward  for 
weeks  to  this  interview,  and  now  it  had  come. 
Neither  of  them  had  spoken  for  several  minutes. 
She  was  listening  to  the  music.  How  pretty  she 
looked,  he  thought,  as  he  stealthily  gazed  at  her. 
His  heart  was  beating  like  a  trip-hammer.  Ought 
he  to  say  anything  to  her  ?  Would  she  like  it  if 
he  did  ?  Did  he  want  to  say  anything  to  her,  and 
what  was  there  to  say  ?  He  loved  her  —  yes,  he 
loved  her ;  but  somehow  he  was  n't  ready  to  be 
married  yet.  What  would  his  family  say  ?  He 
had  his  own  way  to  make  in  the  world.  He  was 
ready  to  work,  he  was  eager  to  work.  He  would 
go  out  on  a  sheep-farm  or  do  anything  to  make 
money,  if  only  he  was  sure  she  cared  for  him.  Yes, 
come  what  might,  he  would  tell  her  his  secret,  — 
if  it  was  a  secret,  —  and  have  it  over  with.  He 
never  could  be  happy  without  her,  he  was  sure 
of  that. 

So  he  had  presently  broken  the  silence,  which 
was  becoming  somewhat  awkward,  with  a  senten 
tious  little  speech  that  was  so  suggestive  of  senti 
ment  as  to  cause  Miss  Bolles  to  draw  her  wrap 
about  her  shoulders  with  a  slight  shiver  and  say 
she  thought  it  really  was  time  for  her  to  be  going. 
But  the  young  lover  would  pay  no  attention  to  the 
hint.  She  should  not  escape  him  now.  He  never 
might  have  such  an  opportunity  again.  And  he 
rushed  to  his  fate  very  glibly  when  once  the  ice 
was  broken,  for  he  told  the  sweet  descendant  of  the 
Puritans  he  had  loved  her  ever  since  he  had  seen 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  33 

her  first,  that  she  was  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world, 
and  had  so  much  influence  over  him  that  if  she 
would  only  say  she  loved  him  just  a  little,  he  would 
be  very,  very  happy.  He  called  her  "  Maud,"  too, 
and,  drawing  his  chair  to  the  window-seat,  tried  to 
take  her  hand,  which  she,  poor  girl,  would  not  let 
him  have.  She  sat  silent  and  trembling,  nor  did 
she  say  a  word  until  he  had  finished.  Then  she 
told  him  quietly,  and  even  a  little  coldly,  that  what 
he  asked  was  quite  impossible.  She  had  enjoyed 
their  friendship  very  much,  of  course ;  but  the  idea 
of  anything  else  had  never  entered  her  head. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Remington,  but  you 
must  try  and  get  on  without  me.  I  am  not  half  so 
good  a  girl  as  you  make  me  out  to  be,"  and  she 
smiled  faintly  at  her. admirer.  "  I  only  wish  I  were," 
she  added,  and  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
as  she  spoke. 

Half  an  hour  later,  after  he  had  conducted  Miss 
Bolles  back  to  her  party  and  bade  her  a  rather  stiff 
and  funereal  farewell,  Remington  took  a  bee-line 
for  one  of  the  clubs.  He  felt  angry,  and,  as  if  it 
were  incumbent  upon  him  to  do  something  desper 
ate  in  retaliation  for  his  discomfiture,  he  would  get 
drunk.  He  remembered  that  Harry  Loring  had, 
according  to  popular  report,  gone  on  a  prolonged 
spree  of  ten  days  after  being  thrown  over  by  a  cer 
tain  Miss  Bowdoin,  and  he  could  now  sympathize 
acutely  with  his  action.  The  lights  in  the  yard 
were  dying  out  rapidly,  and  most  of  the  guests 
had  gone  home.  The  songs  of  students  who  had 


34  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

exchanged  feminine  society  for  mild  bacchanalia 
were  beginning  to  be  audible  in  the  distance,  and 
the  greensward  was  fast  assuming  the  appearance 
of  a  deserted  battle-field. 

As  Remington  was  hurried  on  by  the  impet 
uosity  of  this  mood,  he  was  startled  at  hearing  a 
voice  close  at  hand  ask  him  whither  he  was  going 
so  fast.  Turning  his  head  sharply,  he  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  Woodbury  S  tough  ton,  who  was 
sitting  placidly  smoking  a  pipe  on  the  fence  which 
bordered  the  sidewalk.  The  shade  of  a  large  tree 
concealed  his  figure  from  the  careless  passer. 

"  Holloa,  Wood,"  exclaimed  Remington,  and  he 
came  to  a  halt.  "What  in  the  world  are  you  doing 
here  ?  " 

"  Reflecting,  my  dear  fellow.  Nothing  worse,  I 
assure  you.  I  've  been  here  most  of  the  evening." 
He  smoked  in  silence  for  a  minute.  "  You  see,  I 
was  afraid  if  I  went  into  the  yard  I  might  be  led 
into  saying  something  foolish.  The  last  thing  my 
mother  said  to  me  before  I  left  home  at  Christmas 
was,  that  I  must  be  careful  not  to  do  anything 
foolish.  I  've  been  following  her  advice ;  that 's 
all." 

Remington  nervously  switched  off  the  head  of 
an  innocent  dandelion  with  his  cane.  "  I  Ve  been 
making  a  fool  of  myself  to-night,"  he  said. 

"  I  think  very  likely,"  said  Stoughton.  "  Did  she 
accept  you  ? "  he  inquired,  presently. 

"  No." 

"Well,  you've  got  off  better  than  I  feared.     If 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  35 

any  one  would  have  guaranteed  me  the  same  result, 
I  might  have  had  a  pleasant  evening  ;  but  I  did  n't 
dare  to  risk  it."  As  he  spoke,  Stoughton  looked 
down  half-regretfully  at  a  bunch  of  withered  roses 
which  adorned  his  lapel.  Remington  recognized 
them  as  the  same  he  had  thrown  to  him  from  the 
tree. 

"  I  saw  Miss  Lamb  at  Jack  Hewson's  tea,"  said 
Remington. 

"  She 's  a  nice  girl,  —  a  very  nice  girl."  Stoughton 
shook  his  head  slowly  from  side  to  side,  and  took 
another  puff.  "  I  'd  told  her  that  already  though,  so 
there  was  no  use  in  my  repeating  it  to  her  to-night. 
It  was  all  I  meant  to  tell  her."  He  spoke  the  last 
words  with  a  quiet  deliberation.  Presently  he  gave 
a  deep  sigh,  and,  rising,  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe  against  the  fence.  "  '  To-morrow,  to  fresh 
woods  and  pastures  new.'  Come  on,  old.  fellow. 
It 's  the  luckiest  thing  in  the  world  she  refused 
you  ;  and  you  '11  think  so,  too,  before  you  're  a  week 
older." 

This  prediction  did  not  turn  out  to  be  exactly 
true ;  for,  despite  a  consciousness  that  there  was  a 
certain  compensation  in  still  being  free,  and  not 
having  to  go  out  to  a  sheep-farm  immediately,  Rem 
ington  felt  very  gloomy  for  a  number  of  weeks. 
Stoughton  rallied  him  upon  his  despondency,  and 
adduced  many  excellent  reasons  why  he  should  be 
thankful  that  Miss  Bolles  had  given  him  the  mitten. 
They  passed  most  of  the  summer,  after  graduation, 
at  Newport ;  and  it  must  be  confessed  that,  when 


36  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

the  time  came  for  them  to  enter  the  law  school,  Rem 
ington  did  not  experience  any  special  elation  at  the 
idea  of  meeting  his  would-be  sweetheart  once  more. 
Indeed,  he  had  come  to  see  that  there  were  many 
things  to  be  considered  in  the  matter ;  that  is  to 
say,  his  youth,  lack  of  means,  and  unsettled  pros 
pects  in  life  did  not  warrant  him  in  contracting  an 
engagement.  It  was  better  as  it  was,  perhaps.  If 
he  continued  to  love  Miss  Bolles  three  years  hence, 
when  he  had  begun  to  practise  law,  he  would  try 
his  fortune  again.  Until  then  he  must  be  content 
to  take  his  chance  ;  and  it  was  a  little  surprising  to 
himself,  withal,  to  observe  how  calmly  he  was  able 
to  face  the  prospect  of  taking  his  chance. 

Those  next  two  years  at  the  law  school  were 
years  of  genuine  hard  study  on  the  part  of  both 
Remington  and  Stoughton.  It  is  very  apt  to  be 
the  case  that  those  who  have  been  easy-going 
students  while  undergraduates  turn  out  wonderful 
workers  as  soon  as  they  enter  the  professional 
schools.  They  each  managed  to  spend  so  many 
hours  a  day  over  their  law-books  that  the  termina 
tion  of  the  course  found  them  thoroughly  fagged 
out,  and  a  year  abroad  was  decreed  as  the  needful 
tonic  in  the  premises.  Miss  Bolles  must  have 
been  a  most  unsophisticated  young  person,  for  Rem 
ington  left  Cambridge  this  second  time  with  scarcely 
a  pang  at  parting.  Indeed,  it  is  doubtful  if  there 
was  any  formal  leave-taking  between  them.  He 
had  found  her  manner  toward  him,  on  his  return 
from  Newport,  so  cool  (which  was  doubtless  caused 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  37 

by  a  conscientious  wish  to  avoid  encouragement) 
that  he  soon  began  to  plead  the  multiplicity  of  his 
legal  duties  as  an  excuse  for  not  making  more 
frequent  visits.  He  scarcely  ever  went  to  the 
Cambridge  sociables,  and  their  opportunities  for 
meeting  were  very  few.  Miss  Margaret  Lamb 
was  in  poor  health  during  the  greater  portion  of 
the  two  years,  and  Stoughton  used  to  send  her 
fruit  and  flowers  occasionally.  She  was  said  to 
have  played  too  much  tennis  at  Bar  Harbor ;  but, 
as  her  father,  Professor  George  Lamb,  happened  to 
have  been  one  of  the  original  holders  of  Agueville 
and  Tallpeak  Railway  stock,  she  was  able  to  have 
the  best  medical  attendance. 

"  Only  think,"  said  Stoughton,  the  evening  after 
their  final  law  examinations,  as  he  and  his  friend 
sat  on  the  steps  of  Dane  Hall,  taking  a  last  retro 
spective  survey  —  "  Only  think,  if  I  'd  married 
Margaret  Lamb,  what  a  bonanza  I  should  have 
struck !  Somebody  was  saying  yesterday  that  the 
professor  is  worth  a  cool  million." 

"  And  she  's  an  only  daughter,"  added  Remington. 

Thus  had  passed  the  days  of  their  novitiate.  A 
three  months'  experience  of  actual  life  had  already 
begun  to  color  the  current  of  their  ideas.  Just  as 
buds,  which,  fashioned  through  long  months  of 
dark,  silent  growth,  burst  into  light  and  promi 
nence  beneath  a  spring  day's  varying  sun  and 
shower,  impulses  and  impressions  hitherto  un 
known  to  them  were  welling  up  under  contact  with 
the  workaday  world.  They  were  passing  through 


38  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

the  disillusionizing  process  common  to  all  carefully 
educated  young  men.  The  realities  of  life  were 
very  different  from  what  they  had  pictured  them 
at  the  university.  They  had  come  to  New  York 
with  the  knowledge  of  their  superiority  to  the  mass 
of  mankind,  and  confident  of  recognition.  They 
were  anxious  to  shine  in  their  calling,  to  make 
money,  to  become  prominent  in  the  community ; 
and  though  indefinite  as  to  the  precise  methods, 
they  had  never  doubted  their  ability  to  do  so.  But 
the  result  thus  far  had  been  quite  removed  from 
their  expectation.  They  had  found  their  theories 
and  refinements  of  little  apparent  avail  for  the  wear 
and  tear  of  down-town  life. 

The  discovery  had  been  more  or  less  mortify 
ing.  Stoughton,  reserved,  dignified,  almost  phleg 
matic  in  his  apparent  indifference,  yet  eager  at 
heart ;  Remington,  nervous,  impetuous,  scarcely 
less  clever,  —  they  alike  felt  a  certain  chagrin  at 
the  realization  of  their  (so  to  speak)  helplessness 
among  their  fellows.  The  very  qualities  that  dis 
tinguished  them  from  the  multitude  seemed  to 
unfit  them  for  competition,  to  bar  them  from 
success. 

Upon  the  mind  of  each  the  effect  had  been 
peculiar.  To  Remington,  the  most  serious  shock 
had  been  a  keener  appreciation  of  the  force  of  ma 
terialism,  a  rude  revolutionizing  of  his  emotional 
side ;  but  the  feeling  aroused  in  Stoughton  was 
distinctly  one  of  thwarted  ambition  and  wounded 
vanity.  Accustomed  hitherto,  almost  without  ex- 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  39 

ertion,  to  be  easily  first,  he  had  looked  forward  — 
vaguely,  perhaps,  yet  confidently  —  to  a  conspicu 
ous  recognition.  He  had  supposed  the  accom 
plished  ability  of  which  he  knew  himself  to  be 
possessed  would  be  a  free  pass  to  advancement ; 
instead  of  which  he  saw  himself  outstripped  by 
men  of  Finchley's  stripe,  — men  whom  he  sneered 
at,  but  whom  he  now  secretly  envied. 

Such  reflections  were  a  part  of  their  thoughts 
this  evening,  as  they  pursued  their  way  in  company 
up  Fifth  Avenue.  Stoughton's  home  was  the 
nearer,  and  they  stood  for  a  moment  chatting  at 
the  corner  where  it  was  necessary  for  him  to 
branch  off.  To-morrow  was  Sunday.  For  the 
coming  week  they  found  themselves  deep  in  en 
gagements. 

"  There 's  no  rest  for  the  weary  in  this  life,"  said 
Remington,  with  a  sigh.  "  However,  we  can  sleep 
late  to-morrow  ;  that 's  one  comfort.  By  Jove,  it 's 
a  fine  night ! "  Carelessly  swinging  his  cane,  he 
gazed  up  at  the  clear  heavens. 

"  Right  you  are,"  answered  Stoughton,  absently. 
"It's  a  strange  world,  Arthur,"  he  continued,  sud 
denly  pulling  himself  together.  "  Well,  as  the  bard 
says, 

'If  you  can't  get  in  by  the  golden  gate, 
Climb  over  the  garden  wall.' 

Good-night !  " 

"  Good-night ! "     And  the  young  men  parted. 


III. 


TT  was  usual  with  Remington  and  Stoughton  to 
•*•  remain  down-town  until  late  in  the  afternoon, 
returning  just  in  time  to  get  ready  for  dinner. 
They  were  apt  to  walk  the  distance,  so  as  to  obtain 
a  little  fresh  air  and  exercise.  Sometimes  they  took 
the  "  Elevated,"  and  tried  to  make  a  few  calls  at  the 
afternoon  tea-hour.  The  gay  season  had  begun,  and 
invitations  to  all  sorts  of  entertainments  were  pour 
ing  in  upon  them.  Their  social  position  gave  them 
the  entree  to  the  most  agreeable  houses  in  town. 

One  afternoon,  shortly  after  the  episode  at  Del- 
monico's,  Stoughton  carried  his  friend  to  call  on 
Mrs.  Fielding.  She  lived  on  Fifth  Avenue  in  the 
vicinity  of  Sixtieth  Street.  The  irreproachable  man 
servant  who  answered  the  bell  had  reached  a  period 
of  life  equally  removed  from  the  rawness  of  youth 
and  the  seediness  of  age.  With  a  demeanor  sub 
dued,  and  not  too  unctuous  to  be  consistent  with  a 
proper  self-respect,  he  aided  them  to  take  off  their 
overcoats  in  a  large  hall,  exquisitely  furnished  in 
the  spirit  of  the  modern  school  of  high  art. 

"  What  name  shall  I  say,  sir  ? " 

"  Mr.  Remington,  please." 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  41 

"  Thank  you,  sir."  The  servant  drew  aside  the 
portiere  which  hung  across  the  doorway  of  the 
adjoining  room  :  "  Mr.  Woodbury  Stoughton  —  Mr. 
Remington." 

Remington  found  himself  in  a  spacious  parlor, 
dim  with  faint  daylight,  strained  through  colored 
shades,  and  the  afterglow  of  a  wood  fire.  A  maze 
of  low  tables,  footstools,  and  other  tasteful-looking 
knick-knacks  separated  the  young  men  from  their 
hostess,  whose  sofa  was  beside  the  distant  hearth. 
She  laid  aside  the  volume  which  lay  open  on  her 
lap  and  rose  to  greet  them  with  a  cordial  smile. 

She  was  dressed  simply,  in  a  loose-fitting  cos 
tume  of  some  cashmere  material  of  a  neutral,  green 
ish-brown  tint.  A  single  pale  pink  rose,  with  a 
dash  of  deeper  color  at  the  tips  of  its  leaves,  lay  on 
her  bosom.  Remington  noticed  the  same  exces 
sively  refined  delicacy  of  feature  that  had  struck 
him  the  evening  he  had  seen  her  at  Delmonico's ; 
but,  in  this  dimmer  light,  no  suggestion  of  meagre- 
ness  marred  the  fascination  of  her  pretty  face. 
The  apartment  was  in  harmony  with  its  mistress, 
a  soothing  pleasure  to  the  eye  that  appreciates  true 
elegance  and  grace.  That  perfection  of  effect,  of 
which  the  heightening  charm  is  an  apparent  ab 
sence  of  art,  was  there  completely  realized. 

"  You  see,  Mrs.  Fielding,"  said  Stoughton,  "  I 
have  taken  an  early  advantage  of  your  permission 
to  bring  my  friend  Mr.  Remington  to  visit  you." 

"  You  are  very  good  ;  Mr.  Remington  is  welcome 
both  on  your  account  and  on  his  own,"  she  said  in 


42  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

a  sweet,  low  voice,  and  with  a  manner  slightly 
languid,  but  completely  gracious.  "  I  know  your 
mother  and  sisters  very  well,  Mr.  Remington,"  she 
continued,  as  she  gave  the  young  man  her  thin 
white  hand.  "  Your  mother  is  well,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  she  and  my  sister  Mabel  are  in  Boston 
for  a  few  days."  Despite  her  unaffected  simplicity 
Remington  blushed,  with  a  sense  of  that  discrep 
ancy  which  exists  between  Sevres  china  and  com 
mon  ware. 

"  Ah,  how  charming  !  Pray  sit  down,  Mr.  Rem 
ington."  She  re-established  herself  on  the  lounge, 
and  touched  a  little  bell  on  the  table  beside  her, 
which  emitted  a  musical  sound.  The  decorous 
man-servant  appeared. 

"  The  tea,  Dawson." 

Mrs.  Fielding  leaned  back  against  the  cushions. 
"  You  have  come  back  to  New  York  to  stay,  I  hope, 
Mr.  Remington." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so,  Mrs.  Fielding." 

"I  tell  Mr.  Remington,"  said  Stoughton,  "that 
if  he  desires  to  be  a  success,  he  must  write  himself 
down  in  Mrs.  Fielding's  good  graces." 

"  I  am  sure  Mr.  Remington  needs  no  assistance 
from  any  one  to  win  his  way,"  she  said,  with  a 
pleasant  smile;  "I  can  see  he  is  clever." 

Remington  laughed  confusedly.  "  Oh,  I  assure 
you  that  is  quite  a  mistake,"  he  murmured.  Then, 
with  an  attempt  at  effusiveness  which  sounded  a 
little  elaborate  :  "  I  shall  try  to  convince  Mrs.  Field 
ing  of  my  desire  for  her  favorable  opinion." 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  43 

The  tea-things,  a  dainty  Wedgwood  service  of 
quaint  design,  were  brought  in  by  Dawson  and 
placed  on  the  low  plush-covered  table  at  her 
elbow.  She  proceeded  to  make  the  tea  while 
Stoughton  told  a  bit  or  two  of  society  news  in  his 
amusing  vein. 

"  I  saw  you  the  other  evening  at  Delmonico's,  I 
think,  Mr.  Remington,"  said  Mrs.  Fielding,  pres 
ently.  "That  Miss  Idlewild  is  a  lovely-looking 
girl.  Do  you  know  her  well  ?  " 

"Only  slightly." 

Stoughton  gave  an  amused  laugh.  "  You  must 
not  question  him  too  closely  there,  Mrs.  Fielding. 
I  suspect  Mr.  Remington  of  being  a  gay  deceiver." 

"  Indeed,"  she  murmured  softly.  She  was  pour 
ing  out  tea  into  one  of  the  quaint  little  cups,  and,  as 
she  spoke,  raised  her  eyes  therefrom  and  let  them 
fall  inquiringly  on  Remington.  "  Are  you,  too,  of 
the  faithless  kind  ? "  she  asked,  with  a  sigh  of  sim 
ulated  despair. 

"  Oh,  I  trust  not,"  he  answered,  with  a  nervous 
laugh  ;  and  as  her  glance  encountered  his,  he  blushed. 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Remington  will  make  a  confidante 
of  me  some  day  when  he  comes  to  see  me  alone. 
I  can  keep  a  secret.  Do  you  take  tea,  Mr.  Reming 
ton  ? "  she  asked,  with  her  head  poised  on  one  side, 
and  another  sly,  blithe  glance  at  the  young  man. 

Remington  disliked  tea.  "  If  you  please,"  he 
answered. 

"  One  lump,  or  two  ? "  and  she  gracefully  bal 
anced  the  second  bit  of  sugar  in  a  liliputian  pair 


44  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

of  tongs  above  the  smoking  beverage.  "  But  stay  ; 
I  will  leave  it  in  the  saucer,  and  you  shall  choose 
for  yourself,"  she  added  airily,  before  Remington 
could  reply. 

As  he  rose  to  receive  his  cup  from  her  hand  the 
portiere  was  drawn  aside,  and  the  voice  of  Dawson 
announced  "  Miss  Tremaine — Miss  Lawton  —  Miss 
Crosby." 

"  How  sweet  of  you,  my  dears  ! "  Mrs.  Fielding 
embraced  all  of  the  trio,  who,  kept  in  countenance 
by  the  superiority  of  their  numbers,  all  chattered 
effusively  at  the  same  moment.  They  were  young 
girls,  dressed  tastefully  and  in  the  height  of  fashion. 

Miss  Tremaine  was  a  tall,  gaunt  girl,  with  large 
bones  and  a  long  neck,  which  gave  her  something 
of  a  giraffe-like  demeanor.  She  was  eminently  viva 
cious,  and  began  at  once  to  relate  in  a  chattering 
but  spirited  tone  the  latest  social  intelligence. 
"  Oh,  Ethel,"  she  cried,  turning  toward  Mrs.  Field 
ing,  "have  you  heard  that  the  Guards  have  been 
ordered  to  the  war  in  the  Transvaal  ?  Is  n't  it 
quite  too  distressing  for  poor  dear  Lady  Poppleton  ? 
You  know  '  Beauty '  will  have  to  go.  You  remem 
ber  *  Beauty,'  of  course  ? " 

"  What,  the  little  one  with  the  straw  whiskers  ?" 

"  No,  dear,  that  was  '  Adonis.'  '  Beauty  '  is  the 
clever  one  with  the  large  eyes,  who  stopped,  when 
he  was  out  here,  at  the  Dudley  Robinsons'." 

Remington  found  himself  beside  Miss  Lawton, 
a  young  lady  in  the  vicinity  of  twenty-three,  who 
possessed  a  pretty,  round,  florid  face,  with  its  tra- 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  45 

ditional  accompaniments  of  blue  eyes  and  flaxen 
hair,  but  was  short  and  dumpy.  They  had  already 
met  at  a  ball  or  two.  Unlike  Miss  Tremaine,  the 
still  hunt  was  her  method,  and  for  some  minutes 
she  was  very  undemonstrative  ;  but  when  the  ice 
was  once  broken,  her  chirpy  prattle  had  the  easy 
flow  of  a  brook  in  early  summer. 

"  Were  n't  you  at  Bar  Harbor  last  summer,  Mr. 
Remington  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  a  short  time." 

"  I  thought  I  saw  you  there.  I  stayed  eight  weeks, 
and  was  dreadfully  sorry  to  come  home.  It  was 
my  fifth  season  there.  Is  n't  it  a  fascinating  place  ? 
I  do  think  it's  the  nicest  place  to  go  to  in  the 
summer  I  know  of.  Some  people  call  it  rowdy  ; 
I  don't  ;  do  you,  Mr.  Remington  ?  Mamma  is 
always  complaining  about  my  being  such  a  gad 
down  there,  as  she  calls  it ;  but  I  can't  see  the 
harm  of  seeing  people  naturally,  can  you  ?  I  make 
up  for  it  by  being  frightfully  proper  in  town.  That 
reminds  me,  parties  are  beginning  early  this  year. 
I  suppose  you  will  go  about  a  great  deal  this  win 
ter,  Mr.  Remington.  Mrs.  David  Kochlin's  cards 
are  out  for  a  large  musicale,  and  the  George  Butts 
—  this  was  told  me  in  strict  confidence,  so  you 
must  not  say  I  told  you  —  are  to  give  a  ball  soon. 
Their  daughter  Pauline  is  a  debutante.  And  then 
the  Idlewilds.  Do  you  know  the  Idlewilds,  Mr. 
Remington  ? " 

"  A  little." 

"Oh,  really!     I  don't  know  them,  but  they've 


46  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

sent  me  an  invitation.  I  think  I  shall  go.  I  hear 
the  house  is  perfectly  fascinating.  Mamma  doesn't 
approve  much  of  my  going,  but  it  will  be  such  fun. 
Mr.  Stoughton  is  a  great  friend  of  yours,  is  n't  he  ? 
I  think  he's  so  nice  !  He's  a  lawyer,  I  hear.  I 
should  think  the  law  would  be  frightfully  stupid. 
Oh,  but  how  dreadful  of  me  !  Perhaps  you  're  a 
lawyer,  Mr.  Remington  ! "  She  stopped  short  with 
a  little  gasp,  and  then,  in  response  to  Remington's 
amused  nod,  —  "  What,  really  ?  Well,  you  '11  forgive 
me,  won't  you,  Mr.  Remington  ?  " 

"  What  is  that,  Florence,  I  hear  about  forgiving?" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Fielding,  turning  toward  them. 
"  You  are  getting  on  quite  too  fast.  I  can't  have 
you  monopolizing  Mr.  Remington  altogether.  You 
must  beware  of  Miss  Lawton,  Mr.  Remington  ;  she 
is  dangerous." 

"  I  have  discovered  that  already,"  said  the  young 
man,  with  a  significant  smile. 

"Ah,  now,"  cried  Miss  Lawton,  in  her  demure 
way,  "  how  unkind  !  And  all,  Ethel,  because  I  did 
not  happen  to  know  that  he  's  a  lawyer." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  it  was  all  your  fault,  dear.  But 
you  have  n't  drunk  your  tea,  Mr.  Remington.  It  is 
quite  cold.  I  am  going  to  give  you  another  cup. 
Yes,  I  insist ;  and  you  shall  sit  over  here  where 
Miss  Lawton  cannot  engross  your  attention." 

As  Remington  crossed  over  to  the  vacant  place 
on  Mrs.  Fielding's  lounge,  his  glance  fell  upon 
Miss  Crosby,  who  was  listening  intently  to  some 
thing  Stoughton  was  saying.  Remington  had  been 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  47 

introduced  to  her  a  few  evenings  before,  and  al 
though  he  had  exchanged  but  a  few  words  with 
her,  the  agreeable  impression  thereof  had  lingered 
with  him  a  little.  She  was  a  cousin  of  Mrs.  Field 
ing,  and  had  much  of  her  physique.  The  refined 
delicacy  of  her  features  was  animated  by  the  wist 
ful  interest  of  budding  womanhood.  One  became 
aware  at  first  that  she  had  sympathetic  brown  eyes 
and  a  quiet  manner. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Mrs.  Fielding,  interrupting  his 
momentary  reverie  with  a  beseeching  little  air  as 
of  a  desire  for  confidence,  "  how  do  you  think  you 
are  going  to  like  New  York  ? " 

A  few  minutes  later  Remington  found  himself 
talking  to  his  fair  hostess  with  a  freedom  that  was 
delightful,  and  yet  surprising  to  himself  withal. 
The  peculiar  air  of  sympathy  with  which  she  lis 
tened  to  what  he  had  to  say  drew  from  him,  almost 
unwittingly,  a  frank  exposure  of  his  ideas.  It  was 
easy  to  be  unreserved,  for  she  seemed  so  quick 
to  catch  his  meaning,  so  appreciative  of  mere  sug 
gestions  of  thought.  She  was,  besides,  graceful 
and  pleasing.  Her  air  expressed  the  perfection  of 
natural  elegance.  She  must  be  very  clever,  —  and 
yet  how  young-looking  she  was.  Her  years  could 
be  scarcely  greater  in  number  than  his  own.  But 
women  mature  so  much  faster  than  men.  He  was 
a  mere  boy  beside  her. 

He  spoke  of  his  travels,  of  the  chitchat  of  the 
day,  and  of  the  defects  of  the  reigning  prima  donna. 
Then,  as  he  felt  himself  understood,  he  dwelt  a 


48  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

little  on  his  impressions  of  the  great  city.  Money 
was  the  ruling  spirit  of  the  age,  and  the  seeming 
dearth  of  lofty  ambitions  a  depressing  evil. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  talk  so,"  she  mur 
mured.  "  It  is  refreshing  to  meet  a  man  who 
cares  for  something  beyond  dollars  and  cents." 
She  sighed  gently.  "And  so  you  are  a  lawyer, 
Mr.  Remington  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  have  decided  on  the  law  as  a  pro 
fession." 

"  How  interesting !  "  and  she  gently  knocked  to 
gether  in  her  clasped  hands  a  pair  of  silver  bracelets 
which  she  had  untwisted  from  her  arms. 

"  Scarcely  interesting,  I  fear,"  replied  Remington, 
with  a  little  laugh,  which  betrayed,  however,  that 
he  was  pleased.  "  Your  sex  is  wont  to  apply  that 
adjective  less  indulgently." 

"Ah,  but  I  cannot  agree  with  you.  It  must  be 
grand  to  be  a  lawyer  and  have  important  cases  — 
or  causes,  you  see  I  am  ignorant  of  the  precise 
term  —  to  defend."  She  leaned  back  against  the 
cushions,  and  looked  at  him  earnestly  from  under 
her  penthouse  lids. 

Remington  blushed  and  his  eyes  fell.  He  ner 
vously  indented,  with  the  point  of  his  cane,  one  of 
the  flowers  which  patterned  the  carpet.  "  Perhaps 
—  when  you  have  them  to  defend.  I  am  only  a 
beginner." 

"  Yes,  but  everything  has  a  beginning,"  she  mur 
mured  in  low,  sweet  tones. 

"True."     There  was  a  pause,  as  if   each   were 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  49 

wrapt  in  thought  Remington  reached  out  his 
hand  and  took  from  the  plush  table  the  volume  she 
had  been  reading.  "Permit  me,"  he  said.  "Ah, 
Swinburne  ! "  and  he  opened  the  book  and  began 
to  turn  over  the  pages. 

"  Do  you  know  him,  Mr.  Remington  ?  " 

"A  little."  His  eyes  caught  a  passage  which  he 
paused  to  dwell  upon. 

"  What  is  it,  Mr.  Remington  ? "  and  she  bent 
over  so  that  she  might  share  the  page  with  the 
young  man.  "  '  Before  Dawn.'  That  is  one  of  my 
favorites.  Is  it  not  lovely  ?  " 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment.  It  was  the  last 
stanza  of  the  poem  which  had  attracted  Reming 
ton's  attention,  and,  as  he  came  to  it  again  in  con 
clusion,  he  nodded  his  head  in  acquiescence  with 
her  enthusiasm.  Mrs.  Fielding  repeated  in  soft 
murmur  the  lines  that  had  struck  his  fancy :  — 

"  So  hath  it  been,  so  be  it ; 
For  who  shall  live  and  flee  it  ? 
But  look  that  no  man  see  it 

Or  hear  it  unaware  : 
Lest  all  who  love  and  choose  him 
See  love  and  so  refuse  him, 
For  all  who  find  him  lose  him ; 

But  all  have  found  him  fair." 

"  Adorable,  are  they  not  ? "  she  continued. 
"  There  is  a  wealth  of  deliciousness  in  Swinburne." 
And  her  pupils,  dilated  with  their  sense  of  enjoy 
ment,  sought  his  own. 

"  Exquisite,"  he  replied  ;  but,  although  the  effect 
of  the  words  just  read  was  vastly  soothing,  he  was 

4 


5O  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

not  greatly  concerned  with  their  meaning.  With 
out  knowing  exactly  why,  he  was  conscious  of  a 
vague  delight  he  had  no  desire  to  analyze,  —  per 
haps  lest  he  might  arouse  that  bugbear  of  a  moral 
censor.  The  atmosphere  of  this  refined,  charm 
ing  woman  had  the  effect  upon  him  as  of  violets 
on  the  sense  of  smell,  or  smooth  rich  cream  upon 
the  palate.  What  Stoughton  had  said  regarding 
her  previous  attachment  occurred  to  him.  She  had 
been  married  about  a  year  ago,  and  had  recently 
returned  home  from  abroad.  What  was  her  pur 
pose,  her  object  in  life  now  ?  he  wondered.  What 
were  her  feelings,  her  thoughts,  her  ideas  ? 

"  You  are  fond  of  reading  —  of  books  ? "  he  in 
quired,  gently. 

"Yes,  —  that  is,  of  real  books,  Mr.  Remington. 
I  sometimes  think,"  she  went  on  to  say,  "  we  have 
no  literature  in  this  country.  The  characters  in 
our  novels  and  poems  are  wanting  in  color  and 
spontaneity.  They  are  cardboard  men  and  wo 
men,  rather  than  flesh  and  blood.  We  lack  passion 
as  a  nation,  —  does  it  not  strike  you  so,  Mr.  Rem 
ington  ?  We  are  artificial  and  cold.  We  are  for 
ever  repressing  ourselves."  She  gave  a  little  shiver, 
and  the  curve  of  her  lips  wore  for  an  instant  the 
shadow  of  something  half-bitter,  half-weary. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered ;  but  before  he  could  pro 
ceed,  he  became  aware  that  the  others  had  risen  and 
were  shaking  hands  with  Mrs.  Fielding.  He  stood 
up  mechanically. 

"  I  'm  afraid  you   think  I  'm  very  dreadful,  Mr. 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  51 

Remington,"  piped  Miss  Lavvton  wistfully,  as  she 
tripped  past  him.  He  found  himself  beside  Miss 
Crosby. 

"I  know  one  of  your  sisters,  Mr.  Remington," 
she  said  softly.  "  We  were  at  school  together. 
Have  you  returned  to  New  York  for  good  ? " 

"  For  better  or  for  worse,  Miss  Crosby,"  an 
swered  Remington,  with  a  smile ;  "  or  rather,  I 
should  say,  for  richer  or  for  poorer." 

"  Yes  ?  "  She  pronounced  the  word  with  a  little 
laugh  and  a  sweet  sibilation  of  the  final  consonant. 
There  was  an  eloquent  earnestness  about  her  ex 
pression  as  she  gazed  at  him  that  made  Remington 
almost  regret  his  flippancy.. 

It  was  a  look  Dorothy  Crosby's  face  was  apt  to 
assume  at  such  times  as  her  imagination  was  ap 
pealed  to,  especially  during  conversations  with  the 
other  sex,  or  when  in  the  presence  of  fine  scenery 
or  listening  to  music.  If  her  nervous  system  was 
powerfully  affected,  as  often  happened  where  beauti 
ful  music  was  concerned,  the  expression  in  question 
savored  of  a  pleasure  that  was  almost  pain.  Her 
large  luminous  brown  eyes,  looking  out  from  a 
physiognomy  noticeably  delicate  and  refined,  height 
ened  the  natural  effect  of  this  peculiarity,  which 
had  already  caused  her  to  be  described  in  society 
as  "  interesting."  She  generally  carried  her  head  a 
little  on  one  side  at  such  moments.  Young  men 
sometimes  made  the  mistake  of  ascribing  this  in 
tensity  of  expression  to  the  effect  of  their  identities 
instead  of  to  the  interest  of  her  own  reflections. 


52  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

She  was  a  debutante.  She  lived  alone  with  her 
mother,  who  was  a  widow.  Her  sister,  Mrs.  Charles 
Maclane,  a  beauty  of  the  grand,  dashing  type,  whose 
regular  features  were  for  several  seasons  a  source 
of  heart-ache  to  youthful  admirers  of  classical  love 
liness,  had  made  a  brilliant  match,  it  was  considered, 
in  dowering  with  her  charms  the  hearth  of  a  young 
millionnaire.  Marian  Crosby,  as  her  name  was  prior 
to  that  step,  had,  to  be  a  little  metaphorical,  made 
a  triumphal  march  to  the  altar  over  a  route  strewn 
with  bleeding  hearts.  In  short,  she  had  been  widely 
admired  and  had  flirted  desperately.  The  world 
said  she  came  well  by  this  behavior,  for  her  mother 
—  whom  no  one,  to  judge  from  the  demure  repose 
of  that  good  lady's  maturity,  would  have  ventured 
to  suspect  of  early  diablerie  —  had  been  just  such 
another  when  she  was  a  girl  in  Baltimore.  The 
latter,  however,  unlike  her  elder  daughter,  had 
wedded  a  poor  man.  Mr.  Crosby's  fascinations 
had  carried  her  maiden  heart  by  storm,  and  she 
had  followed  the  young  lawyer  to  his  simple  home 
in  New  York.  He  was  nevertheless,  though  com 
paratively  penniless,  an  aristocrat  by  birth ;  and  to 
his  charming  ways  were  added  the  more  substantial 
advantage  of  good  parts  and  a  scholarly  ambition. 
Had  his  health  been  able  to  withstand  the  strain  of 
a  rigorous  devotion  to  his  profession,  distinction 
would  doubtless  in  time  have  blessed  their  lot ;  but 
such  was  not  to  be,  and  shortly  after  Dorothy's  birth 
Mrs.  Crosby  was  left  a  widow. 

Dorothy  was  like  her  father  in  person  ;  and  with 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  53 

the  paternal  form  she  had  inherited  that  mixture  of 
the  serious  and  the  gay  which  had  marked  his  tem 
perament.  Coupled  with  intelligence  of  expression, 
she  possessed  to  a  high  degree  the  ineffable  air  of 
refinement,  the  modest  grace  and  finish  of  bearing, 
that  are  the  outcome  of  generations  of  good  breed 
ing  alone,  and  without  which  the  self-possessed  in 
dependence  and  smartness  supposed  to  be  the 
boasted  heritage  of  American  girls  are  but  garish 
virtues.  Her  blood  and  nurture  rendered  her  proof 
against  everything  that  lacked  delicacy.  There  are 
dispositions  which,  recognizing  things  of  unrefined 
or  sensual  purport  to  be  hurtful,  bravely  put  them 
aside  and  cease  to  regret  the  self-denial  ;  but  to 
Dorothy  aught  that  savored  of  coarseness  in  thought 
or  action  gave  absolute  pain.  Such  things  were  as 
repugnant  and  foreign  to  her  nature  as  soot  to  the 
surface  of  the  lily.  She  had  been  born  so,  and  doubt 
less  the  purity  and  delicacy  were  no  more  to  her 
merit  than  it  is  creditable  to  you  and  me  that  we  do 
not  use  our  rudimentary  organs  or  have  ceased  to 
believe  in  witches.  She  could  not  help  being  what 
she  was.  Some  one  before  her  in  the  ancestral  line 
had  striven  to  be  pure  and  refined,  and  Dorothy  was 
the  result  of  such  endeavor.  And  thereby  hangs  a 
philosophy.  We  bear  fruit  in  our  descendants,  and 
individual  effort  is  the  secret  of  the  progress  of  the 
world.  A  man's  possibilities  are  decided  in  his 
mother's  womb.  Each  one  of  us  mortals  has  his 
limits,  —  his  gamut,  so  to  speak  ;  and  the  best  per 
former  cannot  strike  a  note  to  thrill  the  soul  from  a 


54  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

low-priced  instrument.  Life  is  a  growth,  and  who 
soever  touches  the  stops  aright  will,  though  he  play 
himself  a  feeble  strain,  transmit  to  his  children  the 
power  for  sweeter  melody. 

The  strenuous  voice  of  Miss  Tremaine,  urging 
upon  Miss  Crosby  the  necessity  of  immediate  de 
parture,  interrupted  their  conversation.  Remington 
turned  to  proffer  his  own  adieus. 

"  I  hope  you  will  come  to  see  me  very  soon,  Mr. 
Remington."  Mrs.  Fielding's  eyes,  as  they  met  his, 
seemed  liquid  with  a  mute  solicitation  for  sympathy. 
Her  loose,  open  sleeve,  receding  up  her  outstretched 
arm,  displayed  a  frail,  snow-white  wrist. 

The  wished-for  epigram  failed  to  respond  to  his 
need.  "  I  shall  be  very  happy  to,  I  'm  sure,"  he 
replied ;  and  he  coveted  the  half-audacious  badinage 
of  Stoughton's  farewell. 

The  young  men  walked  along  Fifth  Avenue  with 
the  attractive  trio,  and  Remington,  as  he  left  Miss 
Crosby  on  her  threshold,  obtained  her  promise  to 
dance  the  german  with  him  at  the  Idlewilds'. 


IV. 


"DETER  IDLEWILD  had  run  away  from  home 
-*-  some  fifty  years  ago,  without  a  dollar  in  his 
pocket.  To-day  he  was  one  of  the  so-called  rail 
road  kings  of  the  country.  His  native  place  was  a 
small  Massachusetts  town,  from  which,  at  the  age 
of  fourteen,  he  had  vanished  in  the  wake  of  a  travel 
ling  circus.  The  hard  knocks  incident  to  a  tum 
bler's  career  had  speedily  dissipated  the  halo  of 
hero-worship  with  which  his  youthful  imagination 
had  surrounded  such  a  lot.  During  the  next  few 
years  he  became  severally  a  bareback  rider,  a 
huckster  of  small  confectioneries,  and  a  Lightning 
Ticket  Agent.  All  these  occupations,  however, 
were  but  stepping-stones  toward  the  realization  of 
a  wider  ambition.  The  thrift  and  keen  appreciation 
of  the  money-value  of  things,  peculiar  to  rustic 
New  England,  was  rife  within  him.  By  the  time 
he  was  nineteen  his  savings  permitted  him  to  pur 
chase  a  controlling  interest  in  "The  Fat  Woman 
of  Guinea,"  a  side  show  connected  with  the  circus 
with  which  he  had  continued  to  travel.  Severing 
the  lady  in  question  from  the  main  company,  he 
carried  her  about  the  country  as  an  independent 


5 6  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

organization,  with  signal  success.  He  was  grown 
to  be  a  strong  strapping  fellow,  with  a  sonorous 
voice  and  a  -happy  gift  of  plausible  statement. 
The  village  folk  flocked  to  see  his  abnormal  prod 
igy,  who  soon,  however,  became  the  nucleus  of  a 
considerable  cabinet  of  curiosities.  Money  flowed 
in  rapidly  ;  but  he  was  not  a  man  to  be  dissatisfied 
with  moderate  profits.  One  fine  day  he  sold  out  to 
a  rival  his  entire  live  stock,  not  even  exempting  the 
foundress  of  his  fortunes  nor  a  peculiarly  profitable 
"Tattooed  Giant,"  and  invested  a  portion  of  the 
proceeds  in  a  well  stocked  pedler's  van. 

Prospering  here  withal,  he  betook  himself,  at  the 
end  of  another  five  years,  to  New  York,  to  become 
the  fountain  head  from  which  a  number  of  these 
itinerants  were  furnished  with  supplies.  He  was 
active  and  diligent,  and  his  business  throve  in  pace 
with  its  increasing  proportions.  He  launched  out 
into  new  and  various  fields  of  enterprise.  Omnibus 
and  steamboat  lines,  an  express  business,  and  even 
a  hotel  or  two,  were  among  the  undertakings  that 
were  nursed  into  a  lucrative  existence  by  his  clear 
sighted  energy.  All  that  he  touched  seemed  liter 
ally  to  turn  to  gold,  and  men  began  to  point  to 
him  as  a  capitalist.  But  even  now  his  long-prac 
tised  caution  stood  him  in  good  stead.  As  earlier 
in  his  career,  he  showed  a  willingness  to  allow 
others  to  reap  what  he  was  accustomed  to  call  the 
"  top-story  profits."  The  eve  of  one  of  the  most 
disastrous  financial  panics  that  had  ever  visited  this 
country  found  him  in  a  position  of  security.  He 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  .       57 

had  "  salted  down  "  into  hard  cash  the  gains  from 
his  outlying  ventures,  amounting  to  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  dollars  ;  which,  after  the  storm  was 
blown  over,  he  concentrated  in  the  banking  house 
of  Peter  Idlewild  &  Company,  thereafter  to  be  one 
of  the  money  powers  of  the  city.  He  had  had  the 
shrewdness  to  foresee  the  immense  future  of  the 
railroad  systems  of  the  nation,  and  by  bold,  yet  pru 
dent  investment  and  speculation,  his  large  wealth 
doubled  and  trebled  itself.  He  had  become  a 
millionnaire  in  the  actual  sense  of  the  word. 

His  life,  as  this  epitome  shows,  had  embraced  a 
wide  and  varied  experience.  He  was  essentially  a 
self-made  man.  His  was  one  of  those  iron  consti 
tutions  that  defy  abuse.  Fatigue  was  almost  an 
unknown  sensation  to  him.  He  could  eat  any 
thing,  and  at  any  hour,  with  seeming  impunity,  and 
obtain  the  refreshment  of  sleep  at  a  moment's  will. 
He  possessed,  besides,  that  power  of  adaptability 
which  is  itself  one  of  the  keys  to  success.  Unpol 
ished,  unfamiliar  with  the  graces  of  language,  he 
had  ever  been  able  to  electrify  a  circle  by  his  quaint 
utterances,  the  pithiness  of  which  was  enhanced 
by  their  very  dearth  of  grammar.  His  fund  of 
stories,  animated  by  the  indescribable  broad  humor 
native  to  our  workaday  population,  was  inexhaust 
ible.  The  smoking-car  and  hotel  corridor,  the  camp 
fire  and  village,  had  alike  known  him  well  and 
accorded  him  a  delighted  audience. 

We  whose  efforts  in  life  have  been  less  pros 
perous  are  prone  to  entertain  some  hero-worship 


58  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

regarding  one  so  thoroughly  successful  in  practi 
cal  fields.  We  like  to  believe  that  he  must  have 
been  actuated  by  broad  and  elevated  principles, 
that  he  must  have  generalized  with  the  well-bal 
anced  rapidity  of  genius,  and  been  influenced  by 
liberal  impulses.  And  yet,  if  we  were  to  weave  for 
Peter  Idlewild  such  a  vesture  of  idolatry,  we  should 
assuredly  be  doomed  to  disappointment.  He  had 
been  completely  a  man  of  action,  to  whom  theories 
were  nought,  except  in  so  far  as  they  could  be  made 
use  of  to  forward  his  personal  interests.  It  may 
be  doubted  whether,  after  the  primary  romance  of 
his  boyhood  had  been  rudely  dispelled  through  an 
actual  experience  of  the  hardships  of  the  tan-ring, 
he  had  ever  allowed  considerations  of  idealism  to 
trouble  him.  Thrown  upon  the  world  and  forced 
to  win  his  way,  he  had  made  use  of  human  nature 
and  adapted  himself  to  its  many-sidedness,  without 
becoming  enslaved  to  what  he  regarded  as  its  weak 
ness.  He  appreciated  the  motive  power,  and  at  the 
same  time  the  limitations,  of  theories  and  specu 
lative  opinions,  and  while  humoring  those  of  others 
had  avoided  partisanship  himself.  He  had  played 
upon,  without  sharing,  the  feelings  and  convictions 
of  humanity. 

But  Dame  Nature  is  a  relentless  creditor.  There 
was  one  spot  in  the  heart  of  Peter  Idlewild  that 
had  escaped  these  benumbing  methods.  He  cher 
ished  for  his  daughter  Isabel  an  absorbing  love. 
Her  mother,  a  young  woman  from  Western  New 
York,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  during 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  59 

his  peregrinations  with  the  circus,  had  died 
shortly  after  confinement.  The  baby  girl,  intrusted 
at  first  to  the  care  of  his  own  sister,  who  still  in 
habited  the  New  England  homestead  he  had  for 
saken,  had  become,  after  she  was  able  to  run  about 
freely,  the  constant  companion  of  his  wanderings. 
For  a  number  of  years  she  had  shared  with  him 
this  roving  life;  and  when  at  last  he  was  compelled 
by  the  requirements  of  education  to  send  her  back 
to  his  kinsfolk,  she  had  yet  ever  lived  in  his 
thoughts  and  become  a  nucleus  about  which  his 
possessions  wound  themselves  with  an  ever  in 
creasing  tension. 

As  time  went  on  he  had  come,  as  we  have  seen, 
to  settle  down  in  New  York ;  and  it  had  been  half 
for  Isabel's  sake  that  he  had  married  again,  —  this 
time  a  person  of  middle  age  and  a  certain  social 
position,  whom  her  friends  declared  to  have  ac 
cepted  the  banker  on  account  of  his  money.  Rug 
ged  and  indifferent  to  the  graces  of  life  as  he  was 
himself,  Peter  Idlewild  had  perhaps  secretly  made 
up  his  mind  that  democracy  avails  women  little, 
and  that  their  only  chance  for  prominence  lies  in 
social  prestige.  Content  on  his  own  part  to  drive 
fast  horses  in  the  comparative  isolation  of  a  single 
boon  companion,  he  had  begun  to  be  eager,  on  his 
daughter's  behalf,  for  the  password  to  good  society. 
He  had  bought  a  house  of  astounding  proportions, 
and  had  it  furnished  by  a  professed  art-critic  on  a 
high  scale  of  magnificence.  He  was  just  about 
to  give  Isabel  a  "  coming-out,  ball,"  to  which  he 


6O  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

had  invited  upon  the  most  trivial  pretence,  in  some 
cases  in  fact  upon  none  at  all,  the  greater  portion 
of  the  fashion  of  the  city.  Nothing  was  good 
enough  for  his  only  child.  She  should  have  the 
best  that  money  could  bring  ;  and  there  the  old 
millionnaire  at  least  felt  safe.  He  could  slap  his 
pocket  with  the  sardonic  consciousness  that  he 
held  strong  cards.  It  was  his  wont  to  tell  the 
blooming  girl,  in  moments  of  endearment,  that  she 
ought  to  be  the  wife  of  a  duke  ;  and  who  knows 
that  in  his  heart,  despite  his  plebeian  tastes  and 
instincts,  he  did  not  cherish  some  such  future  for 
her  as  an  alliance  with  a  titled  foreigner  ? 

Isabel  in  turn  more  than  reciprocated  the  affec 
tion  of  her  father.  He  was  to  her  an  idol  upon 
which  she  lavished  the  wealth  of  her  nature.  To  go 
to  New  York  some  day  and  keep  house  for  him  had 
been  the  Mecca  of  her  girlish  fancy,  to  which  she 
had  looked  forward  with  an  impatience  but  little 
concealed.  This  had  come  to  pass  when  she  was 
sixteen  ;  but  the  sweetness  of  realization  had  been 
alloyed  for  her  by  the  appearance  on  the  scene  of 
Peter  Idlewild's  second  wife.  The  latter  found  the 
country  girl  sadly  deficient  in  the  usages  of  polite 
society,  and  for  three  years  Isabel  had  been  forced 
to  submit  to  a  series  of  refining  processes  at  the 
dictation  of  her  step-mother,  which  had  resulted  in 
an  effectual  removal  of  the  young  beauty's  rougher 
edges. 

Isabel's  preceding  years  had  been  passed  in  a 
New  England  country  town,  under  the  tutelage 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  '  6 1 

of  her  father's  sister,  Submit  Idlewild,  or  "Aunt 
Mitty,"  as  she  was  commonly  known.  The  latter 
was  a  spinster,  whose  native  strength  of  character 
had  developed  in  the  direction  of  rigid  views  on 
the  subject  of  discipline.  She  belonged  essentially 
to  the  older  generation,  and  had  clung  tenaciously 
to  the  letter  and  spirit  of  the  Puritan  code  long 
after  most  of  her  neighbors  had  ceased  to  struggle 
against  the  encroachments  of  so-called  progress. 
The  young  people  of  the  day,  in  especial,  incited 
her  to  ominous  head-shakings.  Their  easy-going 
independence  and  lack  of  reverence  for  age  and 
authority  were  her  favorite  themes  for  homily. 
The  linguistic  and  other  accomplishments  which 
were  beginning  to  revolutionize  the  raw,  though 
salutary,  methods  of  New  England  education  filled 
her  with  dismay.  French  she  habitually  stigma 
tized  as  a  pack  of  nonsense,  and  "pianner  playing" 
as  a  cloak  for  idleness. 

But,  with  all  this  firmness  of  character,  the  sober- 
minded  old  maid  had  found  in  her  niece  a  young 
person  who  kept  her  hands  full.  Isabel,  in  truth, 
had  cost  Aunt  Mitty  a  "  peck  o'  trouble  "  to  man 
age.  As  regards  physique  and  vitality  she  was 
pre-eminently  her  father's  daughter.  She  pos 
sessed  the  same  determined  energy,  and,  as  a  com 
plement  thereto,  a  copious  fund  of  animal  spirits 
ready  to  overflow  upon  the  slightest  occasion. 
Naturally  daring  and  self-reliant,  the  freedom  of 
modern  life  had  had  for  her  a  vivid  attraction. 
Existence  was  to  her  a  keen  enjoyment,  and  she 


62  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

was  impatient  of  the  restrictions  imposed  by  her 
relative.  She  had  the  stronger  nature  of  the  two, 
and  though  the  older  woman  contested  every  inch, 
victory  generally  remained  with  the  splendid  rebel. 

A  more  politic  or  less  conscientious  person  than 
Miss  Submit  Idlewild  would  have  taken  advantage, 
in  these  contests,  of  the  impulsive  nature  of  the 
young- girl,  — for  the  latter  had,  beneath  the  harum- 
scarum  of  her  irresponsible  ways,  a  warm  heart. 
An  appeal  to  her  feelings  was  a  weapon  which  a 
greater  strategist  would  have  used  with  signal 
effect.  But  the  very  exuberance  of  Isabel's  emo 
tional  side  was  a  source  of  alarm,  or  at  least  a 
puzzle,  to  the  sedate  spinster,  in  whose  ideas  a 
rapid  circulation  of  the  blood  was  associated  with 
innate  depravity,  as  it  were.  And  so,  while  in 
secret  deeply  attached  to  her  niece,  she  had  felt 
it  necessary  to  repress  displays  of  feeling  on  her 
own  part,  as  a  check  to  the  other's  effusiveness. 

The  years  had  slipped  away.  This  was  the 
evening  of  Isabel's  coming-out  ball.  She  had 
already  attended  a  number  of  entertainments  at 
other  houses,  but  to-night  was  to  make  her 
known  to  the  gay  world  at  large,  or  at  least 
to  such  part  of  it  as  saw  fit  to  conquer  their 
prejudices  to  the  extent  of  accepting  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Peter  Idlewild's  invitation.  And  most  of 
them  would  succeed  in  doing  this ;  for  the  house, 
as  has  been  stated,  was  reputedly  well  worth  a 
personal  examination.  Moreover,  Mrs.  Tom  Field 
ing's  answer  to  the  surprise  expressed  by  her 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  63 

husband  at  her  willingness  to  accept  courtesies 
from  such  mushroom  members  of  society,  voiced 
the  philosophy  of  many. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Tom,"  said  the  lady  in  question, 
"  in  three  years  everybody  will  visit  the  Idlewilds ; 
and  if  one  must  take  the  plunge,  it  is  best  to  do  it 
with  good  grace,  you  know." 

"  Very  well,  dear,"  replied  submissively  her  lord 
and  master,  whose  objections  were  perhaps  but  a 
pretext  to  escape  for  once  the  role  of  tame  bear 
in  which  he  had  begun  to  figure  of  late.  It  had 
already  become  his  lot  to  be  dragged  about  from 
house  to  house  evening  after  evening.  His  wife 
adored  society,  as  she  phrased  it ;  and  he,  poor  fel 
low,  adored  his  wife.  A  simile  of  self-invention 
was  a  novel  thing  to  be  flitting  through  his  brain, 
and  he  paused  in  his  thought  to  grasp  it  more 
firmly.  A  bear, — yes,  that  was  what  he  was;  a 
rough,  dull-brained  bear.  Why  had  n't  he  been 
born  clever,  like  some  fellows  he  knew  ?  Perhaps, 
if  he  had  been  less  stupid,  Ethel  might  have  been 
ready  to  stay  at  home  sometimes.  It  was  tiresome 
for  her,  poor  child.  Thank  Heaven !  he  had  the 
means  to  gratify  her  every  wish.  How  pretty, 
how  delicate,  how  graceful  she  was,  and  how  he 
loved  her !  If  only  he  could  feel  sure  that  she 
loved  him  as  he  worshipped  her,  what  a  paradise 
life  would  be!  But  at  the  worst  she  was  his, — 
she  at  least  belonged  to  him,  and  no  one  could  take 
her  from  him.  Perhaps,  too,  some  day  she  would 
grow  to  love  him  ;  and  then  — 


64  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

"  Why,  Sleepy,  what  is  the  matter  ?  You  look 
positively  inspired,"  —  and  the  subject  of  his  reverie 
appeared  almost  amused  at  the  rapt  expression  on 
the  face  of  her  husband,  an  epitome  of  whose 
wonted  demeanor  was  contained  in  the  pet  name 
she  had  employed.  She  turned  from  the  contem 
plation  of  her  delicate  face  in  the  glass,  to  flash  at 
her  spouse  that  caressing  smile  which  she  had  dis 
covered  to  be  the  "  Open  Sesame "  of  her  matri 
monial  status. 

He  looked  awkward.  "  Nothing,"  he  murmured  ; 
and  then,  simply,  "  I  was  thinking  of  you,  Ethel." 

"  Ca  va  sans  dire,  my  love,  of  course.  You  may 
order  Holt  for  half-past  ten."  She  smiled  at  him 
once  more,  and  then  as  he  passed  out  her  glance 
strayed  again  to  the  mirror,  whereon  it  lingered 
playfully  and  fondly,  as  if  self-fascinated.  She  was 
in  her  boudoir.  She  was  attired  in  a  long  loose 
wrapper.  Her  hair  had  just  been  done.  She  leant 
forward  to  examine  the  effect  more  closely.  Her 
lips  were  close  to  her  own  lips,  and  she  seemed  to 
be  seeking  the  depths  of  her  own  eyes.  They 
grew  soft  with  the  light  of  a  sudden  fancy. 

"Narcisse?"  she  murmured. 

She  gazed,  and  now  slowly  the  light  seemed  to 
fade  from  her  face  under  the  spell  of  her  thought. 

"  Narcisse !  Ah,  yes,  that  is  it ;  I  love  myself 
alone." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  clasped  her 
hands  behind  her  head,  still  following  in  the  glass 
the  changing  play  of  her  expression.  From  gay  it 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  65 

turned  to  grave,  from  grave  to  something  more  than 
that,  half  tired,  half  sad. 

What  was  life  to  her  but  the  admiration  of  her 
reflected  beauty  in  the  pool,  as  in  the  old-time 
myth  ?  What  other  interest  had  she  ?  Existence 
was  so  vapid,  hollow,  colorless.  And  yet  once  it 
was  so  different,  —  once,  and  that  only  a  short  two 
years  ago.  She  loved  then.  Yes  ;  but  that  was 
all  over  now.  She  had  ceased  to  care,  the  wound 
had  healed.  She  had  been  a  romantic  girl,  and  her 
father  had  been  right  when  he  said  she  would  get 
over  it.  "  Ceased  to  care."  Ah !  why  had  she 
ceased  to  care  ?  Why  ?  Why  was  anything  ?  Why 
had  she  become  what  she  was,  so  hard,  so  indiffer 
ent,  so  cold  ?  She  was  almost  incapable  of  feeling 
now,  and  yet  she  was  but  twenty-five,  —  a  girl  still. 
Why  was  she  so  miserable? — she  who  ought  to 
have  been  so  happy.  And  how  was  it  to  end,  what 
was  to  be  the  outcome  of  it  all  ?  She  still  lived, 
and  she  was  but  twenty-five.  Her  eyes  dimmed 
with  tears  as  she  mused,  and  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  thin  white  hands. 

There  was  a  knock,  and  the  maid  entering  held 
out  toward  her  mistress  a  florist's  box,  with  a 
blithe  "  En  voila  un  autre,  Madame." 

Ethel  Fielding  raised  her  head,  and  for  a  moment 
the  sparkle  of  flattered  pride  danced  in  her  eyes. 
There  were  those  who  said  her  face  at  times  re 
called  the  patrician  qualities  of  her  great-grand 
father,  Morris  Linton,  the  caustic  eloquence  of 
whose  thin  lips  had  been  the  jewelled  stiletto  of 

5 


66  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

the  United  States  Senate  in  years  long  past.  They 
had  been  an  aristocratic  race,  these  Lintons,  and 
their  motto,  Ab  uno  disce  omnes  —  "From  one  learn 
all" — was  carved  upon  their  foreheads,  as  it  were. 

Removing  the  cover  and  the  dainty  gauze  of 
cotton-wool  in  which  the  bouquet  was  swathed,  she 
revealed  a  mass  of  pale  pink  roses.  A  card,  en 
closed  in  a  tiny  envelope,  lay  half  hidden  amid 
their  leaves.  This  she  seized  with  avidity  and  read. 
Dropping  the  same  upon  her  toilet-table,  she  lifted 
up  the  flowers  and  held  them  at  arm's  length  ad 
miringly. 

"  Are  they  not  lovely,  Clementine  ? " 

"  Ah,  oui,  Madame." 

Ethel  drank  in  their  fragrance  in  a  long,  audible 
breath,  pressing  them  against  her  face  the  while. 
Then,  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  exhausted  a 
sensation,  she  thrust  the  bouquet  into  the  hands 
of  her  maid  and  said  briefly,  "  Put  it  with  the 
others." 

"  Bien,  Madame." 

When  Clementine  was  gone,  Ethel  stood  for  a 
moment  pensively ;  then  picked  up  the  card  once 
more,  and  from  her  lips  as  she  read  fell  a  whispered 
"Mr.  Donald  Robinson."  She  shrugged  her  shoul 
ders  slightly,  and  stood  looking  into  distance  with  a 
curious  expression,  hard,  still  yearning,  about  the 
mouth.  The  card  had  become  a  focus  of  nervous 
action,  for  she  was  bending  it  mechanically  between 
her  fingers. 

"  What  is  the  use  ? "  she  said  at  length  slowly. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  6/ 

"What   can   it   lead   to?      And   yet,"  she   added 
through  her  teeth  bitterly,  "  one  must  live." 

Her  eyes  rilled  with  tears.  She  picked  up  a  lace 
handkerchief  and  passed  it  across  her  face  with 
anger.  But  the  pent-up  tears  still  flowed,  and  a 
look  as  of  a  groping  for  support  —  for  something 
to  soothe  her  sense  of  desolation  —  stole  over  her. 
Her  glance  fell  upon  the  toilet-table,  and  with 
sudden  transport  she  reached  out  for  and  clasped 
a  miniature  crucifix  which  lay  thereon.  Pressing 
it  to  her  lips  she  kissed  with  passionate  tremor 
the  sacred  effigy,  repeating  the  while,  in  whispers 
broken  by  sobs  :  "  Thee  only,  blessed  Saviour,  Thee 
only."  She  fell  upon  her  knees  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

At  this  same  hour  Peter  Idlewild  was  standing 
contemplatively  on  the  threshold  of  his  large  ball 
room,  lustrous  with  its  chandelier,  mirrors,  and 
smooth  inlaid  floor,  as  yet  untested  by  the  foot  of 
the  dancer.  He  was  in  full  dress.  A  brilliant  soli 
taire  blazed  in  his  shirt-bosom  in  lieu  of  the  ordi 
nary  triple  studs  of  society.  He  softly  slapped  his 
snow-white  kid  gloves  against  the  palm  of  his  hand. 
From  behind  a  recess  skilfully  concealed  by  large- 
leaved  plants  came  the  sounds  of  musicians  tuning 
their  instruments.  None  of  the  guests  had  as  yet 
arrived.  On  a  sofa  close  by  in  the  adjacent  parlor 
sat  Mrs.  Idlewild,  in  claret-colored  velvet  and  dia 
monds.  She  smoothed  out  the  folds  of  her  dress, 
and  leaned  back  against  the  cushions  in  languid 
complacency. 


68  -         AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

A  buoyant  step  on  the  staircase  announced  the 
descent  of  Isabel.  She  entered  the  room  beam 
ingly.  The  virgin  white  of  her  debutante  attire 
was  relieved  by  a  rose  or  two  amid  her  masses  of 
hair,  and  a  superb  necklace  of  pearls,  the  latest  gift 
from  her  father. 

Peter  Idlewild  turned  at  the  sound  of  her  step. 
"Well,  Isabel!" 

"  Well,  pa  !  Don't  I  look  lovely  ? "  and  father  and 
daughter  gazed  at  one  another  for  a  moment  with 
undisguised  affection.  The  latter  darted  presently 
toward  the  ball-room. 

"  Oh,  how  perfectly  fascinating  the  floor  looks  ! " 
She  clapped  her  hands  together.  "  I  'm  just  crazy 
to  try  it.  Come,  pa ; "  and  seizing  the  old  man 
she  tried  to  drag  him  forward.  They  executed  a 
few  clumsy  movements  together,  the  girl  laughing 
merrily  the  while.  Mrs.  Idlewild  stood  watching 
them  at  the  door. 

"  What  geese  you  two  are ! "  she  murmured  ; 
"you  will  tumble  her  all  to  pieces." 

This  last  sentence  was  called  forth  by  the  father's 
taking  Isabel's  cheeks  between  his  hands,  as  they 
stopped  almost  breathless  at  the  threshold,  and 
kissing  her  smotheringly.  She  shook  herself  free 
from  his  embrace.  "  Oh,  pa,  you  can't  dance  a  bit ! " 
she  cried,  as  she  pirouetted  off  gayly  by  herself. 

"  Isabel,  Isabel,  you  will  not  look  fit  to  be  seen," 
besought  Mrs.  Idlewild,  despairingly. 

"  How,  ma  ? "  and  with  the  impetus  of  the  waltz 
she  sailed  up  to  her  mother's  side. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  69 

"  I  have  cautioned  you  so  often,  dear,  against 
using  that  vulgar  form  of  expression.  If  you  say 
how  when  you  mean  what,  people  will  set  you  down 
as  uneducated." 

"  And  pa's  duke  won't  have  me  in  consequence  ! 
That  would  be  dreadful,  ma."  She  laughed  glee 
fully,  and  passing  her  arm  through  that  of  her 
languid  parent  led  the  way  back  into  the  parlor  to 
where,  upon  a  little  table,  several  large  bouquets  lay 
together.  "  Don't  they  look  too  beautiful,  ma  ? " 
She  picked  up  one  of  them  and  buried  her  face 
amid  its  fragrance.  "  It  would  be  rather  nice  to 
marry  a  duke,  would  n't  it  ?  "  she  said  reflectively. 
"  Only  think  what  fun  it  would  be  to  be  called  '  My 
Lady ' !  And  one  could  use  all  sorts  of  expressions 
then  without  shocking  anybody.  People  would  ob 
serve,  ( It  is  only  Her  Grace's  way ; '  and  the  way 
of  a  duchess  must  be  correct,  of  course,  ma." 

At  this  moment  the  maid  brought  in  another 
tell-tale  green  box. 

"  That  makes  four.     What  fun  !     Merci,  Marie." 

The  French  words,  as  pronounced  by  Isabel, 
had  the  effect  of  Mercy  Marry,  or  perhaps  Murray, 
thereby  suggesting  a  possible  sister  of  the  late 
eminent  Lindley,  —  a  Puritan  sister  to  boot,  for 
Mercy,  like  Mitty,  has  a  New  England  flavor.  The 
fair  perpetrator  of  this  solecism  proceeded  to  re 
move  the  wrappings  of  the  box. 

"  Oh,  ma,  ain't  they  perfectly  lovely  ? "  She  dis 
closed  admiringly  a  mass  of  magnificent  deep-red 
roses.  A  card  lay  among  them.  "  Mr.  Woodbury 


7O  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

Stoughton,"  she  read  aloud,  half-wonderingly,  and 
a  faint  flush  crossed  her  cheek.  "  How  nice  of 
him ! " 

Mrs.  Idlewild  fanned  herself  with  an  air  of  grati 
fication.  "He  seems  to  have  taken  quite  a  fancy 
to  you,  Isabel." 

"  Pshaw,  ma,  I  don't  think  he  has  at  all." 

The  old  man  scanned  the  flowers  ruminantly. 
"  That  young  Stoughton  sent  them,  did  he  ? 
Humph!  He  must  have  a  good  deal  of  money 
to  spare.  You  can't  buy  roses  like  that  for  noth 
ing.  What  does  he  do  for  a  living  ? "  he  inquired 
abruptly. 

"  He  's  a  lawyer,  and  doing  very  well,  I  hear," 
answered  Mrs.  Idlewild. 

Isabel  held  the  bouquet  in  her  hand,  and  was 
picking  over  the  exquisite  buds  pensively.  "  They 
are  just  too  elegant  for  anything,"  she  murmured. 
"  I  suppose  they  did  cost  all  out-doors." 

"  Isabel ! "  groaned  the  mother,  "  where  did  you 
pick  up  such  expressions  ? " 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Idlewild,  "  did  I  tell  you 
that  I  'd  asked  young  Finchley  to  come  to-night  ? 
He  's  a  broker  down  town  who  sometimes  does  an 
odd  job  for  me,  and  smart  as  a  steel  trap.  He 's  with 
J.  C.  Withington  &  Company,  and  bound  to  get  on." 

"  What  does  he  look  like,  pa  ? " 

"  Look  like  ?  He  looks  like  a  man.  Humph  ! 
There 's  nothing  of  the  fashion-plate  about  him." 

It  happened  some  ten  minutes  later  that  the 
young  man  in  question  appeared  upon  the  scene. 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  71 

Galling  as  the  consciousness  of  being  the  first  arri 
val  must  have  been  to  Finchley,  he  entered  the 
room  with  a  crook  to  his  elbow,  and  tight  compres- 
sure  by  a  couple  of  fingers  of  the  bit  of  white  cuff 
protruding  below  his  sleeve,  that  argued  neither 
diffidence  nor  dismay.  When  he  shook  hands  he 
dipped  his  body  and  crooked  the  other  elbow  in  a 
masterly  fashion.  His  efforts  at  politeness  were  so 
elaborate  as  to  be  almost  audible. 

His  host  received  him  with  cordiality.  Finchley, 
despite  his  self-assurance,  was  so  far  deprived  for 
a  short  spell  of  his  natural  glibness  as  to  confine 
his  remarks  to  rather  stilted  praise  of  the  new 
establishment.  But  presently,  encouraged  withal 
by  the  old  man's  friendliness,  he  began  to  feel  him 
self  at  home,  and  make  himself  agreeable,  which 
was  more  or  less  synonymous  with  talking  about 
himself.  He  proceeded  to  tell  Isabel,  in  his  forci 
ble,  persuasive  way,  sundry  facts  connected  with 
his  personality.  In  addressing  the  other  sex  his 
winning,  ugly  smile  was  accompanied  by  a  sort  of 
leer.  He  had  recently  bought  a  driving-horse, 
which  he  informed  her  was  the  finest  driving-horse 
in  New  York.  In  fact,  it  was  characteristic  of 
Finchley  that  everything  he  possessed  was  the 
finest  of  its  kind.  He  took  an  almost  enviable 
satisfaction  in  his  doings  and  belongings,  and  in 
expatiating  thereon  to  his  acquaintances.  He  had 
a  vivid  sense  of  his  own  attainments,  and  was  never 
slow  to  let  people  know  that  he  had  risen  to  his 
present  position  by  dint  of  his  individual  exertions. 


72  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

In  this  connection,  the  dandified  but  well-bred 
young  men  for  whom  he  carried  stocks  were  a  con 
stant  source  of  irritation  to  him.  He  sneered  at 
their  deportment,  and  behind  their  backs  habitually 
characterized  them  as  snobs. 

And  in  this  lay  one  of  the  keys  to  Finchley's 
disposition.  The  real  cause  of  his  aversion  to  these 
fashionable  customers  was  to  be  found  in  his  secret 
consciousness  of  their  superiority.  He  recognized 
at  heart  that  they  possessed  an  indescribable  air  of 
gentility  that,  despite  his  cleverness,  he  could  not 
attain.  His  efforts,  however  carefully  studied,  re 
sulted  but  in  a  vulgarity  palpable  to  himself,  yet 
the  cause  of  which  he  failed  to  fathom.  With  all 
his  air  of  assurance  and  boldness  he  knew  himself 
deficient,  and  chafed  inwardly  at  the  discovery.  It 
therefore  was  a  proud  moment  for  him  to  have  been 
invited  to  Peter  Idlewild's  ball,  and  he  had  taken 
care  to  make  the  most  of  the  circumstance  among 
the  patrons  of  his  office,  —  mentioning  it  quite 
accidentally,  and  with  an  air  as  if  it  were  a  matter 
of  course. 

Finchley  was  the  son  of  respectable  country 
trades-people.  He  had  come  to  the  great  city  at 
the  age  of  sixteen,  with  his  high-school  education 
and  a  local  prestige  for  smartness  as  his  only  capi 
tal.  He  had  almost  at  once  fallen  upon  his  feet,  as 
a  firm  of  brokers,  to  whom  he  applied  for  work, 
happening  to  be  struck  by  his  apt  replies,  engaged 
him  as  a  clerk.  But  it  is  not  everybody  who  falls 
upon  his  feet  that  can  stand,  and  here  Finchley 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  73 

had  shown  himself  equal  to  his  good  fortune.  His 
qualities  were  precisely  suited  to  the  needs  of  his 
employers,  who  from  time  to  time  had  raised  his 
salary  during  an  apprenticeship  of  ten  years,  and  had 
finally  been  led,  by  an  intimation  on  his  part  of  an 
intention  to  set  up  for  himself,  to  offer  him  a  share 
in  their  business.  That  had  been  some  two  years 
ago,  and  the  firm  of  J.  C.  Withington  &  Company 
had  as  yet  seen  no  reason  to  regret  their  decision. 
In  fact  they  had  prospered  exceedingly,  and  the 
new  partner  had  developed  a  wonderful  knack  of 
obtaining  custom.  His  statements  were  so  volubly 
confident  in  tone,  so  bewilderingly  bristling  with 
figures,  that  the  desire  for  opposition  on  the  part  of 
the  listener  vanished.  There  was  nothing  half-way 
in  his  judgments.  He  rarely  qualified  his  remarks. 
There  were  those  who  said  he  would  persuade  an 
inquirer  that  white  was  black  to-day,  and  the  con 
trary  to-morrow,  —  but  never  that  he  was  ambigu 
ous  or  irresolute.  He  had  been  known  to  be  a 
pronounced  bull  at  the  opening  of  the  room,  and  a 
relentless  bear  at  its  close  ;  but  if  a  customer  were 
doubtful  as  to  what  course  to  pursue,  he  always 
found  Finchley  ready  to  decide  the  question  for 
him,  and  supply  him  with  abundant  reasons  for  his 
action. 

He  had  prospered  also  financially  himself,  and 
now  enjoyed  a  comfortable  income  for  a  young 
bachelor  —  or,  verily,  for  a  married  man  —  in  any 
place  but  New  York.  And  here,  indeed,  it  is 
Finchley's  views  that  we  are  expressing.  He  had 


74  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

come,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  into  the  way  of 
spending  money  almost  with  prodigality,  and  what 
others  might  consider  a  liberal  competence  seemed 
to  him  pitiful  enough.  He  lived  within  his  in 
come,  to  be  sure,  —  he  was  too  shrewd  a  business 
man  to  commit  so  fatal  an  error  as  the  reverse 
would  imply,  —  but  he  already  required  a  pretty 
handsome  annuity  to  supply  his  wants.  This  had 
come  about  by  degrees.  While  in  the  employ  of 
the  firm  he  had  of  course  not  been  able,  to  any 
considerable  extent,  to  indulge  in  extravagances  ; 
but  the  quality  of  his  tastes  had  kept  pace  with 
his  fortunes.  He  considered  himself  comfortably 
well-off  for  the  present,  but  the  horoscope  of  his 
future  embraced  sums  beside  which  his  present 
affluence  seemed  a  mere  drop  in  the  bucket.  He 
intended  to  make  a  fortune ;  and  there  was  so  little 
doubt  in  his  own  mind  as  to  his  chances  of  suc 
cess,  that  the  thought  of  economy,  in  anything 
more  than  a  loose  sense,  rarely,  if  ever,  occurred  to 
him.  He  always  talked  poor,  but  that  was  by  way 
of  comparison,  not  because  he  was  conscious  of  any 
privations. 

In  his  personal  habits,  as  in  the  item  of  expendi 
ture,  Finchley  had  kept  upon  the  sunny  side  of  the 
line.  No  one  could  call  him  fast  in  the  liberal  in 
terpretation  of  the  word,  and  yet  his  mode  of  life 
was  unmistakably  luscious  so  far  as  concerned  his 
creature-comforts.  He  conformed  to  that  which  he 
saw  about  him,  and,  provided  he  had  the  example 
of  others  as  an  authority,  was  content  to  take  the 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  75 

world  as  he  found  it,  without  troubling  his  head 
much  as  to  how  things  ought  to  be.  A  man  is 
meant  to  enjoy  existence,  and  in  order  to  enjoy  it 
he  must  have  money  ;  such  was  the  epitome  of  his 
philosophy.  The  world  was  good  enough  for  him  ; 
so  he  phrased  it.  Accordingly  he  took  his  cock 
tail  socially,  dined  luxuriously,  and  played  his  occa 
sional  full  hand  for  all  it  was  worth,  without  any 
very  definite  moral  twinges.  He  owned  a  neat 
open  buggy,  in  which  he  drove  the  previously  men^ 
tioned  trotter,  and  was  altogether  content  with  his 
present  condition  of  life. 


V. 


A  N  hour  later  the  scene  was  completely  altered. 
-*^-  The  chain  of  connecting  rooms  was  crowded 
with  a  gay,  brilliant  throng.  A  maze  of  dancers 
whirled  over  the  ball-room  floor,  the  entrance  to 
which  was  beset  by  that  sombre  body  of  unem 
ployed  men  one  sees  at  every  large  entertainment. 
In  the  main  rooms  —  in  one  of  which  Mrs.  Idle- 
wild  and  Isabel  were  receiving  —  were  grouped  the 
elders,  and  such  of  the  youthful  spirits  as  preferred 
the  more  tranquil  joys  of  conversation  to  the  at 
tractions  of  Terpsichore.  Despite  the  numbers,  the 
large  size  of  the  house  prevented  the  effect  of  a 
crush.  Everything  on  the  two  lower  stories  was 
thrown  open.  There  were  charming  corridors 
through  which  to  wander,  and  hushed  retiring- 
rooms  —  the  library,  the  picture  gallery,  and  a 
seductive  little  boudoir  —  for  those  in  search  of 
isolation.  The  hall  was  full  of  nooks  and  cran 
nies,  just  large  enough  to  accommodate  couples 
not  averse  to  having  their  whispered  confidences 
drowned  by  the  peaceful  splash  of  the  neighboring 
fountain ;  and  everywhere  there  were  tasteful  ar 
rangements  of  flowers  and  beautiful  ornaments  and 
striking  paintings  to  charm  the  gazer. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  77 

Arthur  Remington  and  Woodbury  Stoughton 
had  come  together,  for  they  had  been  dining  at 
the  Sparrows'  Nest,  —  a  fraternity  that  had  been 
brought  into  existence  some  two  years  before  by  a 
few  fashionable  but  somewhat  impecunious  youths, 
who  were  barred  by  expense  from  joining  one  of 
the  regular  clubs.  It  was  the  fourth  consecutive 
party  at  which  they  had  been  present  this  week, 
to  say  nothing  of  a  dinner  or  two.  The  season 
was  going  to  be  a  very  gay  one,  according  to  the 
authorities. 

The  young  men  were  fairly  in  the  whirl  of  New 
York  life.  They  commonly  rose  in  the  morning  at 
the  latest  possible  moment  consistent  with  reaching 
their  offices  at  half-past  nine.  To  be  breathless 
and  breakfastless  on  arrival  down  town  came  to  be 
with  them  no  unusual  occurrence.  The  twenty- 
four  hours  seemed  excessively  short,  and  they  even 
begrudged  the  small  allowance  that  it  was  neces 
sary  to  devote  to  sleep.  After  a  day  of  business 
they  ordinarily  reached  home  just  in  time  to  scram 
ble  into  their  dress-clothes.  Dinner  invitations,  as 
well  as  those  for  later  entertainments,  were  becom 
ing  very  abundant.  Rumor  declared  young  men 
to  be  greatly  in  demand.  The  increasing  corps  of 
charming  young  ladies  who  composed  "  the  blue- 
blood  ballet,"  as  Stoughton  once  phrased  it,  must 
be  danced  with  by  somebody.  The  older  men 
grumbled  at  the  lateness  of  the  hours,  and  refused 
to  stay  to  the  german,  so  that  partners  were  wel 
comed  from  among  those  new  to  the  social  stage. 


78  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

But  to-night  there  was  a  very  large  gathering  of 
all  ages.  People  were  anxious  to  see  the  new 
house  concerning  the  magnificence  of  which  there 
were  such  prodigious  rumors. 

Remington  had  become  so  far  interested  in 
Miss  Dorothy  Crosby,  that  her  whereabouts  was 
now  what  first  occurred  to  him  upon  entering 
a  ball-room.  They  had  met  a  number  of  times. 
They  had  sat  side  by  side  at  dinner  only  the 
evening  before,  and  he  was  to  dance  the  german 
with  her  to-night.  There  was  something  about  the 
girl  that  appealed  to  him  in  the  highest  sense. 
She  seemed  to  satisfy  that  thirsty  yearning  for 
ideality  to  which  he  was  susceptible,  though  if  he 
had  been  asked  to  analyze  why  he  liked  her,  his 
reply  would  probably  have  been  that  she  was  so 
refined  and  lady-like.  Her  disposition  too  seemed 
sweet,  and  her  views  of  life  were  earnest  and  un 
worldly. 

He  was  drawn  to  her  all  the  more,  though  doubt 
less  unconsciously,  by  the  fact  of  his  being  rather 
disconsolate  just  now  regarding  his  prospects.  New 
York  life  was  so  very  different  from  his  expecta 
tion.  The  great  ambition  0*  everybody  seemed  to 
be  to  make  an  enormous  fortune,  and  persons  with 
out  means  counted  for  very  little.  There  was  no 
repose.  It  was  next  to  impossible  not  to  be  in  a 
flurry  and  state  of  excitement  most  of  the  time. 
The  competition  was  so  great  that  one  was  obliged 
to  overwork  to  avoid  being  left  behind  in  the  race. 
He  had  been  warned,  to  be  sure,  that  this  was  the 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  79 

case,  but  the  reality  exceeded  the  description.  He 
had  been  taught  as  a  child  to  believe  that  his 
countrymen  were  the  superiors  of  other  nations  in 
the  quality  of  their  thought  and  the  character  of 
their  ambitions,  and  he  was  loath  to  regard  this  as 
an  illusion.  Had  he  not  always  conceived  this  to 
be  the  land  of  noble  aims  and  exalted  views  of 
living,  as  distinguished  from  the  degeneracy  of  the 
older  countries  ?  And  yet  looking  about,  him  he 
could  not  clearly  distinguish  the  superiority  of  his 
fellow-citizens  in  the  matter  of  tone  and  aim.  They 
were  very  clever,  but  he  missed  that  tendency  in 
the  direction  of  the  ideal  which  during  the  rev 
eries  of  his  college  days  he  had  felt  sure  he  would 
encounter  in  real  life.  This  acting  upon  his  mind, 
already  brought  face  to  face  with  the  problems  of 
materialism,  had  awakened  within  him  many  a 
cynical  thought. 

But  to-night  he  was  happy  at  the  prospect  of  a 
delightful  evening.  At  least  he  had  come  hither 
in  that  frame  of  mind ;  but  from  his  present  post 
by  the  door  Tie  could  catch  an  occasional  glimpse  of 
Miss  Crosby  whirling  through  a  ravishing  waltz 
with  a  white-waistcoated  exquisite,  who  wore  a  soli 
tary  stud  that  resembled  a  miniature  plaque  in  his 
shirt-bosom.  This  was  Ramsay  Whiting,  a  young 
millionnaire  of  good  family,  who  happened  as  well 
to  be  very  attractive  and  respectable.  Remington 
was  wondering  who  had  sent  her  the  second  bouquet 
which  she  carried.  He  had  himself  committed  the 
extravagance  of  sending  her  what  would  be  ordi- 


80  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

narily  considered  a  handsome  bunch  of  roses,  but 
some  other  admirer  had  put  his  gift  to  the  blush 
with  a  superb  mass  of  Jacqueminots.  He  felt  ag 
grieved  without  knowing  exactly  why.  His  sense 
of  proprietorship,  as  it  were,  was  offended. 

When  the  waltz  ceased  he  went  up  to  speak  to 
Miss  Crosby.  He  was  conscious  of  being  a  little 
glum,  and  the  temper  of  his  mood  was  not  improved 
by  the  indifference  of  the  young  lady,  who  seemed 
to  him  much  more  partial  to  Mr.  Whiting. 

A  few  minutes  later  Remington  found  himself 
convoying  Miss  Lawton  —  whom  his  eye  had 
chanced  to  fall  upon  after  Miss  Crosby  went  danc 
ing  off  with  Jack  Idlewild,  who  had  engaged  her 
for  the  next^  waltz  —  through  the  various  rooms. 
She  was  in  her  usual  talkative  mood,  and  began  to 
entertain  her  escort  in  her  demure  way  with  a  light 
running  prattle,  interspersed  by  comments  on  the 
mutual  acquaintances  they  encountered.  He  fan 
cied  himself  quite  happy  and  amused ;  but  who  does 
not  know  the  heartsickness  of  such  peregrinations 
with  the  wrong  girl  ? 

"  Oh,  do  look  at  Miss  Nourse  !  I  don't  see  why 
such  large  girls  persist  in  wearing  white.  If  I  were 
her  size  I  should  limit  myself  to  black  silks.  I 
sometimes  think  I  may  grow  to  be  just  as  large. 
I  am  positively  afraid  to  be  weighed,  I  have  gained 
so  much  this  winter.  Dissipation  seems  to  agree 
with  me." 

"  I  adore  fountains,  don't  you,  Mr.  Remington  ?  " 
she  continued,  as  they  strolled  in  the  queue  of 


•       AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  8 1 

couples  through  the  spacious  hall.  "  The  splash  is 
soothing  to  the  nerves.  But  perhaps  men  don't 
have  nerves.  Yes,  though,  they  must,  for  I  was 
told  yesterday  that  Mr.  Harry  Holmes  is  very  ill 
with  nervous  prostration.  But  you  seem  preoccu 
pied  this  evening,  Mr.  Remington,  as  if  something 
were  on  your  mind.  I  'm  afraid  I  bore  you  dread 
fully.  Do  take  me  straight  to  my  chaperon,  Mrs. 
Hollis  Beckford.  Mamma  could  n't  come,  so  she 
promised  to  keep  an  eye  on  me.  Don't  I  really 
bore  you  ? "  she  went  on  to  say,  in  response  to  the 
young  man's  iteration  of  never  being  more  content 
in  his  life.  "  Still,  I  'm  sure  there  's  something  on 
your  mind.  I  do  wish  people  could  see  into  others' 
minds,  —  it  would  be  so  convenient,  would  n't  it  ? 
Oh,  there  's  Mrs.  Fielding,  with  Mr.  Don.  Robinson- 
How  lovely  she  looks,  does  n't  she  ?  I  wonder  who 
sent  her  all  those  flowers.  Do  you  believe  in  a 
future  life,  Mr.  Remington  ?  They  say,  you  know, 
Mr.  Don.  Robinson  is  an  atheist.  Is  n't  it  a  pity  ? 
—  for  he  is  rather  fascinating  to  look  at.  I  hear 
his  wife  feels  dreadfully  about  it.  That  reminds 
me,  talking  of  feeling  badly,  do  you  ever  cry  at  the 
theatre  ?  Do  you  know,  I  went  night  before  last 
to  see  '  The  Two  Orphans,'  and  positively  I  — 
Oh,  is  this  our  dance,  Mr.  Brumley  ?  Well,  I  '11  tell 
you  the  rest  another  time,  Mr.  Remington  ; "  and 
Miss  Lawton,  turning  back  her  head  over  her 
dumpy  little  shoulder  in  mute  pantomime  of  despair, 
was  borne  away  by  a  sombre  youth  in  kid  gloves 
much  too  large  for  him. 

6 


82  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

Miss  Idlewild  naturally  was  fettered  to  her  moth 
er's  side  during  all  the  early  portion  of  the  evening, 
receiving  the  guests.  Remington  had  said  a  few 
words  to  her  upon  entering,  and  besought  her  to 
steal  away  for  a  waltz.  "  Oh,  I  can't,  Mr.  Reming 
ton.  It  would  n't  do  at  all.  Wait  until  by  and  by, 
and  then  I  '11  give  you  one,"  she  said  effusively. 
She  was  looking  her  best.  The  increased  flush  of 
excitement  was  becoming  to  her.  It  had  passed 
through  Remington's  mind,  as  he  lingered  for  a 
moment  watching  her  undergo  the  ordeal  of  recep 
tion,  that  he  wished  he  could  fall  in  love  with  her. 
She  was  certainly  very  beautiful,  —  twofold  more 
beautiful,  for  instance,  than  Miss  Crosby,  —  in  the 
common  sense  of  the  word.  Yet,  much  as  he  ad 
mired  her,  Isabel  failed  to  inspire  him  as  a  whole. 
He  was  conscious  of  feeling  himself  in  many  ways 
her  superior ;  or  rather,  perhaps,  that  she  lacked 
those  delicate  qualities  intimately  associated  with 
his  vague  ideal  of  what  a  woman  ought  to  be.  Per 
haps  it  was  his  imagination,  because  he  knew  her 
origin  ;  but  was  she  not  distinctly  of  the  earth  in 
her  characteristics  and  tastes  ?  And  yet  she  was 
so  frank,  so  guileless,  so  fresh  and  warm  in  all  her 
ways  !  Whomever  she  did  love  she  would  love 
with  her  whole  heart;  there  would  be  no  lukewarm- 
ness  in  her  passion.  Calm  analysis  in  such  matters 
would  be  for  her  an  impossibility. 

The  german  came  at  last,  and  a  magnificent 
affair  it  was,  with  its  flowers  and  elaborate  favors, 
which  were  each  of  an  appreciable  value.  Isabel, 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  83 

who  danced  with  Ramsay  Whiting,  was  in  a  state 
of  enthusiastic  rapture  over  the  fun  of  being  out. 
She  received  an  amount  of  attention  well  calculated 
to  turn  the  head  of  any  girl,  for  her  free  and  na'fve 
ways  made  her  speedily  a  favorite.  The  older 
heads  among  the  beaus  were  attracted  to  try  their 
fascinations  upon  so  charming  a  subject.  She 
seemed  to  be  perpetually  waltzing,  and  whenever 
she  resumed  her  seat  there  was  always  a  semi 
circle  of  men  about  her  chair.  Prominent  among 
these  was  Finchley,  who  —  knowing  but  few  people, 
and  for  once  a  little  daunted  by  the  consciousness  of 
his  own  want  of  suppleness  in  social  ways  —  stood 
his  ground  grimly  among  the  worshippers  of  the 
young  beauty.  He  seemed  quite  contemptuous  of 
the  conversation  of  the  others,  and  the  muscles  of 
his  face  refused  homage  to  the  flow  of  badinage, 
save  such  as  fell  from  Isabel's  lips.  Once  in  a 
while  the  coast  was  sufficiently  clear  for  him  to 
occupy  for  a  moment  the  seat  beside  her.  .He  was 
anxious  to  get  her  things,  to  oblige  her  in  some 
way.  Why  did  he  not  dance  ?  she  asked.  He 
never  danced.  Would  he  not  like  to  know  some 
one  ?  Her  father,  she  was  sure,  would  be  delighted 
to  introduce  him  to  any  one  he  desired.  No,  he 
preferred  to  stay  where  he  was,  if  she  did  n't  object. 
He  was  quite  happy  there,  he  said ;  and  he  sought 
by  dint  of  his  leer  to  convey  an  idea  of  his  content. 
She  was  afraid  he  must  find  it  terribly  dull  without 
dancing.  The  german  was  perfectly  delightful,  but 
unsatisfactory  for  conversation.  One  would  just 


84  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

get  settled,  and  somebody  was  sure  to  come  up  and 
take  you  out. 

Remington,  whose  own  partner  was  almost  as 
great  a  favorite,  found  himself  frequently  in  Miss 
Idlewild's  neighborhood.  He  made  her  the  recipi 
ent  of  his  bouquet  in  the  flower  figure,  and  was 
presented  by  her  in  turn  with  a  silver  matchbox. 
"  Don't  you  like  the  favors  ? "  she  asked.  "  I 
thought  it  was  nice  to  have  them  all  different.  Oh, 
I  do  think  it 's  such  fun,  Mr.  Remington.  I  had 
no  idea  I  should  enjoy  society  so  much.  Oh,  thank 
you,  Mr.  Stoughton ; "  and  Isabel  rose  to  receive  a 
bangle  which  the  young  man  in  question  held  out 
toward  her.  Again,  as  at  Delmonico's,  Reming 
ton  noticed  a  curious  expression  in  her  face,  and 
the  flush  on  her  cheek  deepened  as  she  sailed  away 
in  the  waltz.  He  had  watched  her  earlier  in  the 
evening  with  Stoughton,  and  been  struck  by  a  kind 
of  embarrassed  reticence  in  her  manner.  She  was 
never  like  that  to  him.  She  always  ran  on  in  the 
most  confidential  strain.  What  was  the  trouble,  he 
wondered.  Could  she  be  in  love  with  Stoughton  ? 
Come  to  think  of  it,  her  bearing  toward  himself 
was  somewhat  as  if  he  were  a  brother.  If  she 
cared  very  much  for  any  one,  she  would  probably 
be  less  frank.  Well,  even  if  she  was  in  love  with 
Stoughton,  why  should  he  care  ?  He  could  not 
very  well  have  told,  if  he  had  tried ;  but  it  is  safe 
to  state  that  no  young  man  likes  to  have  it  made 
plain  to  him  that  he  is  regarded  solely  from  a  sis 
terly  standpoint. 


AN   AVERAGE  MAN.  85 

Remington  had  noticed,  too,  that  Stoughton 
seemed  to  be  quite  devoted  to  Miss  Crosby. 
Stoughton's  own  partner  was  Miss  Tremaine,  the 
giraffe-like  young  lady  whom  they  had  met  at  Mrs. 
Fielding's.  She  had,  however,  after  the  german 
was  well  under  way,  commenced  a  flirtation  with 
Muchfeedi  Pasha,  a  diplomat  whom  she  had  met  the 
preceding  winter  in  Washington.  Miss  Tremaine 
was  no  gosling.  She  had  been  out  six  winters,  and 
understood  perfectly  how  to  arrange  matters  so  as 
to  obviate  social  suffering.  She  appreciated  that 
Woodbury  Stoughton  had  asked  her  to  dance  the 
german  out  of  politeness,  for  he  had  stayed  at  her 
mother's  house  at  Newport  the  preceding  summer. 
He  had  done  his  part  in  recognizing  the  obligation, 
and  it  was  for  her  to  make  things  as  comfortable  for 
him  as  possible.  She  was  too  sensible  to  imagine 
that  he  would  care  to  talk  to  her  all  the  evening, 
and  she  was  certain  she  was  not  going  to  bore  her 
self  by  a  tete-a-tete  with  a  boy  like  him.  They  could 
perfectly  well  each  have  a  good  time  apart,  and  yet 
preserve  the  form  of  union,  after  the  manner  of  an 
ill-assorted  couple  that  has  agreed  to  keep  the 
peace.  She  would  have  all  the  credit  of  having 
had  a  partner,  and  all  the  freedom  that  one  sacri 
fices  for  such  a  trophy.  There  was  a  little  boudoir 
adjoining  the  ball-room  to  which  she  accordingly 
removed  herself  with  the  aforesaid  foreigner.  "  Be 
sure  and  tell  me,  Woodbury,"  —  she  had  called  him 
by  his  Christian  name  since  they  were  babies  to 
gether,  —  "  when  our  turn  comes.  Remember,  for 


86  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

I  dote  on  waltzing  with  you,  you  know."  At  the 
other  extremity  of  the  same  ante-chamber  Mrs. 
Fielding  was  ensconced  with  Mr.  Don.  Robinson. 

The  hours  flew  by,  and  it  was  now  far  into  the 
night,  —  or,  rather,  early  in  the  morning.  The  ger- 
man  was  still  being  danced  with  vigor  by  a  bevy  of 
enthusiastic  spirits,  but  there  were  gaps  here  and 
there  in  the  circle  that  composed  it.  People  had 
begun  to  go  home,  and  a  disposition  to  seek  the 
seclusion  of  retired  spots  —  where  J:here  was  less 
liability  to  disturbance  —  had  begun  to  show  itself. 
It  was  pleasant  to  wander  at  will  through  the  now 
thinned  out  rooms,  and  comment  sympathetically  on 
the  taste  of  one's  host,  or  sip  an  ice  in  the  shadow  of 
the  library  while  your  partner  told  you  confidences 
about  himself.  The  splash  of  the  fountain  was  an 
attractive  neighbor,  especially  where  an  arrange 
ment  of  hot-house  plants  afforded  two  recesses 
within  just  the  right  earshot  of  its  music. 

"  Let  's  sit  down  here,  where  it  is  cool,  Mr. 
Stoughton,"  said  Isabel.  -She  was  warm  with  the 
exercise  of  dancing,  and  a  detached  lobe  of  her 
hair,  which  had  broken  loose,  gave  her  a  somewhat 
dishevelled  appearance.  This  but  increased,  how 
ever,  the  effect  of  her  beauty.  She  reached  down 
to  pick  up  a  strip  of  tulle,  trailing  from  her  skirt. 
"  Oh,  mamma  will  be  madder  than  a  March  hare," 
she  exclaimed,  as  she  gazed,  half  ruefully,  half  glee 
fully,  at  the  havoc. 

She  tore  the  strip  off  short.  "  Please  put  it  in 
your  pocket,  Mr.  Stoughton.  I  have  n't  got  any 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  8/ 

pocket.  That 's  one  of  the  disadvantages  of  being 
a  girl.  I  should  think  you  'd  be  awfully  glad  that 
you  were  n't  born  a  girl." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  been  born  anything  half 
so  lovely." 

Isabel  gave  a  flattered  little  laugh,  accompanied 
by  her  artless  "Really?"  There  was  a  pause.  She 
sat  with  her  eyes  on  her  lap,  and  fingered  thought 
fully  the  roses  in  her  bouquet.  She  carried  but 
one  now  ;  the  others  had  been  long  since  consigned 
to  the  table  as  too  burdensome.  Stoughton  had 
recognized  that  it  was  to  his  that  she  had  given  the 
preference. 

He  sat  watching  her  with  all  the  rapt  devotion 
of  a  lover  in  his  manner.  He  was  an  adept  at  that 
sort  of  thing.  It  came  to  him  as  naturally  as  pos 
sible  to  give  the  impression  to  a  woman  that  he  was 
an  admirer  and  perhaps  a  suppliant.  His  ordinary 
air  suggested  something  of  the  kind,  and  when  he 
saw  fit  to  intensify  it  a  little  the  guise  was  unmis 
takable.  And  yet,  despite  this  ardent  exterior,  a 
curious  train  of  thought  was  passing  through  his 
mind, — one  that,  as  it  were,  irritated  him.  Did 
he  really  love  this  girl  ?  Why  was  he  paying  her 
attention  ?  She  was  very  beautiful,  very  splendid, 
very  attractive  ;  but  did  he  love  her  ?  He  had  been 
more  or  less  devoted  to  her  ever  since  they  had 
met  at  Newport  the  previous  summer,  and  he  had 
sent  her  flowers  on  several  other  occasions.  She 
was  full  of  enthusiasm  and  charm  ;  but  would  she 
make  him  the  wife  pictured  to  himself  in  those 


88  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

ideal  dreams  for  the  future  that  he  had  cherished  in 
secret  ?  Her  tastes,  her  ways,  her  thoughts,  were 
wholly  unlike  his  own.  Compared  with  him  she 
was  illiterate,  and  her  little  lapses  in  grammar  and 
grace  stirred  his  sense  of  irony.  Was  she  fit  to  be 
his  helpmate  in  the  struggle  of  life,  to  aid  him  with 
intelligent  counsel  and  sympathy  ?  She  would  love 
him  with  all  her  heart,  —  love  him  to  distraction, 
—  he  did  not  doubt  that  ;  but  would  it  not  be  a 
fervid,  unreasoning  passion,  an  infatuation  that  saw 
in  him  no  faults,  that  was  —  in  short  —  as  blind  as 
it  was  doting  ?  He  had  always  believed  he  should 
marry  a  woman  who  would  be  able  to  understand 
and  appreciate  his  ideas  and  interests,  who  would 
be  a  companion  as  well  as  a  lover. 

Why,  then,  was  he  hanging  about  this  girl  ? 
Was  it  not  largely  because  she  was  to  be  very  rich, 
because  her  father  was  worth  millions?  If  she  had 
been  penniless,  would  he  ever  have  thought  of  her 
in  the  way  of  matrimony  ?  He  might  have  enjoyed 
amusing  himself  with  her  for  a  time  on  account  of 
her  originality  or  beauty,  but  the  idea  of  marriage 
would  never  have  occurred  to  him.  He  was  going 
to  offer  himself  to  her  because  of  her  money.  He 
was  going  to  sacrifice  his  ideal  to  a  consideration 
of  worldliness.  He  would  weary  of  Isabel.  She 
would  be  sure  to  bore  him  after  his  passion  began 
to  cool. 

He  shook  himself  mentally.  Bah  !  Bother  such 
suggestions.  She  was  a  magnificent,  lovely  crea 
ture,  and  his  scruples  were  but  the  sentimentality 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  89 

of  a  super-aesthetical  fancy.  The  rest  of  the  world 
consulted  their  material  interests  in  the  choice  of 
a  wife;  and  was  he  to  fetter  himself  with  moon 
shine,  —  with  the  shadow  of  a  dream  ?  The  world 
was  a  practical  place,  and  one  must  have  money  to 
live  and  get  on.  He  was  ambitious  to  succeed. 
He  wanted  to  make  a  name  for  himself.  A  rich 
wife  would  be  worth  to  him  ten  years  of  struggle. 
Besides,  she  was  beautiful,  ornamental,  —  every 
thing,  in  fact,  to  make  him  an  object  of  envy. 

Why  was  he  sitting  here  so  coldly,  so  impas 
sively  ?  Why  was  he  reasoning  so  deliberately  ? 
Many  men  in  his  place  would  be  thrilling  with  pas 
sion.  Why  did  he  not  feel  the  desire  to  seize  this 
lovely  girl  in  his  arms,  to  clasp  her  to  his  breast  ? 
It  would  be  cruel,  it  would  be  wrong,  but  it  would 
be  human  ;  and  he  —  he  with  his  finespun  notions 
and  Puritan  blood  —  was  void  of  humanity.  One's 
vital  current  congealed  in  this  northern  latitude,  and 
split  hairs  with  one's  intellect.  His  ancestors  had 
bequeathed  to  him,  forsooth,  a  goodly  heritage. 

From  behind  the  shrubs,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
fountain,  a  gentle  laugh,  which  caused  him  a  sensa 
tion  of  annoyance,  fell  on  his  ear.  It  was  that  of 
Dorothy  Crosby,  tete-a-tete  with  Remington.  Ah  ! 
there  was  a  girl  indeed !  Was  she  not  the  kind  of 
woman  he  had  dreamed  of  ?  Was  she  not  charming 
enough  to  satisfy  his  ideal  ?  If  she  were  rich  as 
Miss  Idlewild,  would  he  not  to-day  be  at  her  feet  ? 

These  thoughts  sped  through  .his  brain  in  the 
few  seconds  of  silence. 


9O  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

"  I  want  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Stoughton,  for  these 
lovely  roses.  It  was  awfully  kind  of  you  to  send 
them." 

The  words  permeated  his  reverie,  and  —  with  a 
gesture  as  of  a  clearing  away  of  mental  cobwebs, 
a  desire  as  it  were  to  prove  to  himself  that  he 
really  loved  her  —  he  bent  forward  eagerly.  "  I 
could  not  help  sending  them.  I  wanted  to  send 
them." 

"  Well,  they  are  very  pretty,"  she  said,  seemingly 
ignoring,  save  for  a  tell-tale  blush,  the  vehemence 
of  his  tone.  She  leaned  backward  on  the  lounge, 
and  raised  her  eyes  toward  him  experimentally, 
as  the  fascinated  bird  gazes  at  its  magnetizer.  But 
there  was  coquetry  as  well  as  curiosity,  half-sus 
picion  as  well  as  a  tribute  to  sorcery,  in  their  blue 
depths.  "  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Stoughton,  I  some 
times  think  that  you  are  laughing  at  me." 

"  Yes  ?  Well,  what  can  I  do,  Miss  Idlewild,  to 
assure  you  that  such  is  not  the  case  ?  —  that,  on 
the  contrary,  I  —  " 

"  Do  ?  I  don't  know  that  you  can  do  anything. 
But  really  I  often  feel  that  you  must  be  saying  to 
yourself,  '  How  foolish  that  girl  is  ! f  Don't  you, 
really  ?  Just  own  up  that  you  do  occasionally ;  I 
think  I  should  feel  better  ;  "  and  she  laughed  glee 
fully. 

Stoughton  shook  his  head  and  looked  at  her 
admiringly.  How  charming  her  ;z#zz^//was,  to  be 
sure !  She  was  so  bold  with  others,  so  coy  and 
gentle  with  him. 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  91 

"  I  come  from  the  country,  you  know,"  she  went 
on  to  say,  —  as  if,  the  ice  of  her  reserve  once 
broken,  and  possible  doubts  as  to  lurking  irony 
dissipated,  she  rather  enjoyed  a  free  tongue,  — 
"  and  am  frightfully  ignorant,  —  provincial,  as  ma 
calls  it.  Oh,  the  dear  old  country ;  I  sometimes 
miss  it  so.  I  used  to  have  splendid  times  there. 
I  was  a  dreadful  tomboy,  I  guess.  Aunt  Mitty 
always  said  so.  That 's  pa's  sister,  who  took  care 
of  me  after  I  was  too  old  to  travel  with  the  circus. 
Did  you  know  that  I  once  travelled  with  a  circus, 
Mr.  Stoughton  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Well,  I  did.  Does  it  shock  you  dreadfully  ? 
It  was  when  I  was  quite  little.  I  was  on  intimate 
terms  with  the  Fat  Woman,  and  the  Three-legged 
Boy  used  to  buy  me  candy.  Pa  said  he  had  a 
mash  on  me." 

She  paused  a  moment,  as  they  both  laughed. 
"  Oh,  but  those  were  delightful  days.  I  wonder  if 
I  shall  ever  have  such  a  good  time  again.  Do  you 
think,  Mr.  Stoughton,  people  have  such  a  good  time 
when  they  are  grown  up  as  they  did  when  they  were 
children  ? "  she  asked  earnestly.  Her  face  when 
serious  had  much  of  her  father's  firmness  about 
the  mouth,  but  the  eyes  were  soft  and  far-away  in 
their  expression. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  think  so.  I  enjoy  myself  more  than 
I  used  to  when  I  was  younger,"  replied  Stoughton. 

"  Do  you  ? "  she  said  dreamily.  "  Well,  you  're  a 
man.  I  think  somehow  it 's  harder  for  girls."  She 


92  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

stopped  for  a  second,  reflectively.  "  You  ain't  very 
well  acquainted  with  pa,  are  you,  Mr.  Stoughton  ? " 

"  Not  very  well." 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  "  what  I  should  do  if 
anything  ever  happened  to  pa.  I  care  for  pa,  you 
know,  more  than  for  everything  else  in  the  whole 
world.  He 's  been  awfully  good  to  me.  My 
mother  died  when  I  was  born,  —  that  is,  my  real 
mother.  Here 's  her  picture."  And  Isabel,  unclasp 
ing  a  bracelet  from  her  arm,  revealed  a  small  tin 
type  set  in  its  back.  It  was  the  face  of  a  pale, 
delicate  woman,  quite  unlike  that  of  the  daughter, 
excepting  for  the  eyes.  Their  shade  was  not  dis 
cernible;  but  the  same  soft,  yearning  expression, 
that  one  noticed  at  times  in  those  of  Isabel,  was 
plainly  apparent. 

Stoughton  had  taken  the  bracelet  into  his  hand. 
"  You  do  not  look  much  like  your  mother,"  he  said. 
"  She  must  have  been  slighter  than  you." 

"  No,"  she  answered  almost  joyfully,  "  they  tell 
me  I  am  pa's  daughter.  I  am  thought  to  be  very 
like  pa." 

The  young  man  still  gazed  from  the  one  to  the 
other.  Ancestral  portraits  always  interested  him. 
He  delighted  to  trace  the  signs  of  inheritance,  and 
theorize  therefrom.  There  must  be  a  certain  por 
tion  of  the  frail,  sensitive  mother  in  this  blooming 
girl.  It  was  easy  to  distinguish  the  father,  but  it 
was  not  from  him  that  she  had  derived  her  gentle 
ness  of  spirit. 

"  I  wish  ma  had  lived,"  she  went  on,  as  if  in  echo 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  93 

of  his  speculative  mood ;  "  I  miss  her  dreadfully 
sometimes.  Things  puzzle  me.  Are  men  ever 
puzzled,  Mr.  Stoughton  ?  I  have  been  wondering 
lately  why  we  are  made,  and  what  it  all  means.  I 
never  used  to  bother  my  head  much  about  such 
matters.  I  simply  lived  on  and  was  happy."  She 
was  silent  a  moment,  and  leaning  forward  clasped 
her  hands  over  one  of  her  knees  in  her  absorption. 
"  Do  you  go  to  church,  Mr.  Stoughton  ? "  she  asked 
presently. 

Her  simplicity  .touched  the  young  man,  but  the 
feeling  produced  upon  him  was  rather  one  of  pity, 
in  which  he  detected,  so  to  speak,  the  germ  of 
future  boredom.  For  him,  with  his  agnostic  views, 
or  at  any  rate  his  searching,  rigid  tests,  this  girl 
would  be  no  fit  helpmate.  She  was  leagues  behind 
him  in  the  region  of  thought.  She  would  be  unable 
to  understand,  to  follow  him.  But,  nevertheless, 
he  unconsciously  shrank,  in  his  response,  from  as 
serting  his  position. 

"  Not  very  often,  I  am  afraid,"  he  said. 

"  Neither  does  pa.  Ma  goes,  though.  She  takes 
me  to  the  Episcopal  Church."  She  paused  again. 
"  Do  you  believe  all  they  say  there  is  true  ? " 

Stoughton  hesitated.  He  leaned  forward  and 
spoke  in  a  whispered  tone,  half  impressive,  half 
endearing :  "  Who  can  say  in  this  world  what  is 
true  and  what  is  false,  my  dear  Miss  Idlewild  ?  " 

Meanwhile  upon  the  other  side  of  the  fountain 
Remington  was  conversing  with  Miss  Crosby, 
whom,  finally,  he  had  persuaded  to  desert  the  ball- 


94  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

room.  The  young  bud  had  been  enjoying  herself 
extremely,  and  her  admirer  would  probably  not  have 
felt  wholly  flattered  had  he  divined  that  her  consent 
to  exchange  waltzing  for  a  tete-a-tete  proceeded 
mainly,  from  the  reflection  that  by  the  latter  course 
she  would  be  more  likely  to  evade  the  scrutiny  of 
her  mother,  whom  she  suspected  of  a  design  to 
carry  her  home  prematurely.  To  have  been  taken 
out  almost  every  turn  in  the  german  was  an  atten 
tion  which  had  filled  her  cup  of  happiness  quite  to 
the  overflowing  point,  and  her  .vivacity  rendered 
her  more  charming  than  ever  in  the  eyes  of  her 
partner,  who  now  was  telling  her  some  of  his  college 
experiences  with  a  devoted  air.  Once  established 
in  a  retired  nook,  she  was  quite  reconciled  to  the 
situation.  She  liked  Mr.  Remington  very  much. 
He  had  been  very  kind,  and  his  bouquet  was  a 
beauty.  It  was  so  nice  of  him  to  send  it.  Alto 
gether  she  had  had  a  "  perfectly  splendid  "  time. 

Remington  finished  a  tale  of  hair-breadth  escape 
from  a  proctor  with  some  self-congratulation,  for 
his  companion's  eyes  were  sparkling  with  keen 
interest.  Animation  was  becoming  to  her,  and 
made  her  thoughtful  face  very  expressive. 

"  Men  have  such  good  times,"  she  murmured,  in 
a  tone  of  arch  despondency.  "They  have  so  much 
more  freedom  than  we  poor  girls.  I  often  wish  I 
were  a  man.  They  have  such  opportunities." 

She  clasped  her  hands  reflectively.  "  If  I  were 
a  man,  I  'm  certain  I  should  be  very  ambitious," 
she  went  on  to  say. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  95 

"  What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  exactly.  I  think  I  should  be 
a  lawyer  —  and  —  and  then  go  to  Congress.  My 
father  was  a  lawyer,  you  know.  But  of  course  you 
would  n't  know.  You  are  a  lawyer  too,  aren't  you, 
Mr.  Remington  ? " 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  You  don't  seem  very  enthusiastic  on  the  sub 
ject.  I  used  to  think,"  she  exclaimed  laughingly, 
with  a  sudden  recurrence  to  her  previous  thought, 
"that  I  should  like  to  bean  author.  I  would  give 
anything  to  be  able  to  write  poems  or  novels.  But 
I  never  could,  I  'm  sure.  Do  you  write  at  all,  Mr. 
Remington  ?  " 

"  I  wrote  verses  occasionally  when  I  was  in 
college." 

"  Oh,  how  interesting  !  Have  n't  you  some  with 
you  that  you  can  read  to  me  ?  " 

Remington  laughed.  "  I  don't  as  a  rule  carry 
verses  concealed  about  my  person,  Miss  Crosby. 
Besides,  I  have  given  up  all  that  sort  of  thing  now. 
I  'm  a  worker,  and  have  no  time  for  the  poetry  of 
life." 

His  tone  made  her  look  serious  again.  "Do  you 
have  to  work  very  hard  ? "  she  asked.  "  I  think  all 
the  men  in  this  country  work  too  hard,  don't  you  ? 
Why  should  it  be  so  ?  " 

Remington  answered  that  it  was  because  they  all 
wanted  to  make  money.  Everybody  was  afraid  that 
some  one  else  would  get  his  business  if  he  was  n't 
always  on  hand  to  look  after  it.  He  explained  to.  her 


96  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

how  difficult  it  was  for  a  young  fellow  without  in 
fluence  to  back  him  to  get  ahead.  One  might  take 
great  risks,  of  course,  but  then  you  were  liable  to 
lose  everything.  "  You  see/'  he  added,  a  little  more 
gayly,  "there  are  disadvantages  in  being  a  man, 
after  all.  Girls  remain  at  home  and  escape  all 
these  worries." 

"  Yes  ;  but  they  have  their  own,  Mr.  Remington. 
A  girl's  life  is  so  monotonous  and  empty.  Her 
occupations  are  all  so  petty.  She  has  such  a  nar 
row  field  of  usefulness,  and  there  seems  no  way  of 
doing  anything  great  and  noble.  If  one  ever  at 
tempts  what  is  out  of  the  common  run,  people  are 
sure  to  call  you  peculiar."  She  spoke  with  her 
head  on  one  side,  almost  as  though  soliloquizing. 
"There  is  so  much  to  do,  Mr.  Remington,  when 
one  considers  the  misery  that  exists  in  the  world." 

"I  know,"  said  Remington.  He  was  silent  for  a 
moment.  "  It 's  a  puzzling  age  to.  have  been  born 
in.  '  I  used  to  think  in  college  that  it  would  be  all 
plain  sailing,  and  if  a  man  only  lived  up  to  his  prin 
ciples  and  was  true  to  himself  he  would  get  on 
easily  enough.  But  it 's  pretty  hard  work  holding 
on  to  one's  ideals  in  this  place.  It  sometimes 
seems  as  if  the  happiest  men  are  the  ones  who 
try  to  get  all  the  amusement  they  can  out  of  life. 
Those  who  have  been  hewing  at  the  granite  wall  of 
destiny  for  so  many  centuries,  in  the  hope  of  solv 
ing  the  riddle  of  existence,  do  not  seem  to  have 
made  a  great  deal  of  progress." 

"  Oh,  but  don't  you  think  the  world  is  a  great 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  97 

deal  better  than  it  used  to  be  ? "  asked  the  girl,  with 
a  deep  interest  written  on  her  thin  intellectual 
face. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly  what  you  mean  by  better. 
The  world  runs  smoother,  I  think.  People  are 
more  comfortable,  and  are  willing  to  do  more  to 
make  others  comfortable.  I  dare  say  it  is  better." 

She  sat  looking  before  her,  lost  in  the  pure  rev 
erie  of  budding  womanhood,  smelling  now  and 
again,  with  unconscious  movement,  of  the  roses 
sent  by  him  over  whose  words  she  was  grieving. 
"  Life  is  a  very  strange  thing,  is  n't  it  ?  But  I 
don't  believe  men  have  been  trying  all  these 
thousands  of  years  to  find  out  what  it  means  for 
nothing,  do  you  ?  I  can't  help  feeling  that  I  am 
somebody,  and  that  what  I  do  in  this  world  will 
make  a  difference  somehow,  —  somewhere.  The 
trouble  is,  one  can  do  so  little.  One  is  so  power 
less  to  make  others  happy." 

"  I  should  not  think  you  would  find  much  diffi 
culty  in  doing  that,"  he  said  significantly,  in  a  quiet 
tone. 

The  girl  roused  herself  from  her  abstraction,  and 
blushing  replied  that  he  knew  her  very  little. 

"  Here  is  mamma  come  to  capture  me,"  she  con 
tinued  ;  and  she  rose  to  greet  Mrs.  Crosby,  who 
stood  at  the  entrance  to  their  hiding-place. 

"  Dorothy,  where  have  you  been  ?  I  've  been 
looking  for  you  everywhere." 

"  Here,  mamma,  all  the  time  since  I  stopped  danc 
ing.  It  is  deliciously  cool  so  near  the  fountain." 

7 


98  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

"  Well,  it 's  time  to  be  going  now.  I  do  hope  you 
have  n't  caught  cold." 

Ten  minutes  later,  Remington  and  Stoughton  en 
countered  each  other  in  the  supper-room,  whither 
the  need  of  a  little  refreshment  after  the  labors  of 
the  evening  had  driven  them. 

"  That  Miss  Crosby  you  were  dancing  with  seems 
a  nice  girl,"  said  Stoughton,  as  he  impaled  a  raw 
oyster. 

"  She 's  very  pleasant." 

"  She  looks  like  a  lady.  It 's  a  comfort  to  see  a 
thoroughbred  after  so  much  of  the  imitation  article. 
She  's  intelligent  too,  is  n't  she  ? " 

"  I  have  found  her  so." 

"  Well,"  said  Stoughton,  presently,  "  I  Ve  had 
enough  of  this.  Let's  skip." 

They  both  seemed  thoughtful  as  they  passed 
through  the  nearly  empty  rooms. 

"It's  a  pity  she's  poor  as  a  church  mouse." 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking  ? "  asked  Rem 
ington. 

"  Miss  Crosby,  of  course." 

"  Oh ! " 

Further  conversation  on  the  point  was  inter 
rupted  by  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Tom  Fielding, 
who  came  gliding  down  stairs  enveloped  in  swan's- 
down.  The  two  young  men  hurried  forward  with 
offers  to  look  after  her  carriage.  "  Thank  you  ; 
Mr.  Fielding  has  ordered  it,  I  believe." 

Remington  stood  talking  with  her  while  she 
waited.  She  took  him  playfully  to  task  for  having 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  99 

deserted  her  all  the  evening.  "You  must  come 
and  see  me  again  soon,  Mr.  Remington.  I  was 
reading  yesterday  a  new  poet  to  whom  I  want  to 
introduce  you." 

Remington  bowed  a  smiling  acquiescence.  She 
was  very  charming,  to  be  sure,  he  reflected,  and 
quite  too  sylph-like  to  belong  to  the  heavy-faced, 
big-bearded  man,  who  now  stood  veiling  his  im 
patience  under  a  forced  smile. 

"  You  had  better  look  after  your  friend.  I  fear 
he  is  a  sad  flirt.  I  thought  the  young  lady  was 
your  peculiar  province,"  whispered  Mrs.  Fielding, 
as  she  said  good-night. 

Remington's  eyes,  following  the  direction  indi 
cated,  caught  sight,  through  a  vista  of  parlor  re 
flected  in  a  mirror,  of  Woodbtiry  Stoughton  leaning 
against  a  -mantel-piece  and  looking  down  at  Miss 
Idlewild.  The  girl  was  fastening  in  her  bosom  a 
brilliant  rose,  which  he  evidently  had  just-  given 
her. 

Afterwards  Remington  remembered  that  Mrs. 
Fielding's  face  wore  an  expression  that  betokened 
annoyance  almost,  and  he  heard  her  tell  her  hus 
band,  in  the  doorway,  that  she  felt  tired. 


VI. 


"D  EMINGTON  and  Stoughton  found  it  very 
-*-^-  difficult  to  avoid  burning  the  candle  at  both 
ends  ;  for,  with  all  the  excitement  of  society,  their 
days  down  town  were  by  no  means  idle.  Even  in 
the  way  of  law  they  managed  to  pick  up  a  little  busi 
ness.  An  aunt  of  Remington,  for  instance,  had 
employed  him  to  obtain  a  divorce  for  one  of  her  de 
serving  poor,  who  was  in  straits  ;  and  he  had  so  far 
acquired  the  interest  —  the  sentimental,  not  the 
metallic  article  —  of  a  money-lender,  whose  office 
adjoined  his  own,  as  to  induce  Shylock  to  intrust 
him  with  a  small  collection  suit.  This  Remington 
had  won,  —  but  rather,  as  he  believed,  from  the  fact 
that  the  justice  selected  to  hear  the  cause  was  a 
personal  friend  of  his  client,  than  from  the  merits 
of  the  case.  In  like  manner  Stoughton  managed 
to  obtain  an  occasional  fee  toward  the  defraying 
of  his  office-rent. 

Remington  was  spending  his  clientless  moments 
in  the  preparation  of  a  treatise  on  Railroad  Law, 
in  which  he  fancied  himself  much  interested.  He 
had  felt  it  necessary  to  find  a  substitute  for  kicking 
his  heels  in  his  office.  Besides,  it  had  always  been 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  IOI 

an  intention  of  his  to  write  a  book  of  some  kind  ; 
and  a  successful  publication  in  the  line  of  his  pro 
fession  would  be  likely  to  give  him  a  start.  The 
subject  was  engrossing,  he  found,  and  he  pegged 
away  at  it  with  a  good  deal  of  enthusiasm.  The 
necessity  of  research  in  connection  therewith 
obliged  him  to  be  absent  from  his  office  at  times  ; 
and  Stoughton,  who  was  apt  to  call  round  to  get 
his  friend  to  lunch,  would  often  find  the  door  em 
bellished  with  a  bit  of  cardboard,  inscribed:  "At 
the  Law  Association,  —  back  at  1 :  30."  Stoughton 
was  wont  to  laugh  at  this  studying  law  in  cold 
blood,  as  he  called  it.  "  Why  don't  you  put,  *  At 
the  Supreme  Court/  Arthur?  It  would  look  a 
great  deal  better."  "Yes,  but  nobody  would  be 
lieve  it."  "  What  if  they  didn't  ?  They  'd  admire 
your  enterprise.  I  tell  you,  my  dear  fellow,  I  've 
come  to  the  conclusion  you  and  I  are  too  devil 
ish  conscientious.  We  don't  advertise  ourselves 
enough.  There's  a  Hoosier  now  in  my  entry  who 
does  n't  know  quarter  the  law  I  do,  and  yet  he  has 
four  times  my  professional  income.  I  asked  him 
one  day  how  he  got  his  practice,  and  he  told  me  he 
began  by  begging  it.  He  lived  in  a  boarding-house, 
and  interested  the  lodgers  in  his  briefless  condi 
tion.  Fancy  going  about  asking  people  to  give  you 
law  business !  Well,  it  probably  never  occurred  to 
him  that  there  was  any  objection  to  it.  I  suppose 
it 's  our  misfortune  that  we  see  things  differently." 

Stoughton  had  himself  been  acting  to  a  certain 
extent  on  his  own  theory.     As  has  been  said,  this 


102  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

text-book  writing  did  not  appeal  to  him.  He  'had 
had  enough  of  mere  study,  he  felt,  for  the  present, 
and  was  ambitious  to  try  his  hand  in  practical  fields. 
A  good  law-book  would  not  help  him  on  very  fast 
toward  either  fame  or  fortune.  He  still  kept  up,  to 
be  sure,  his  old  voracious  habit  of  reading,  but  it 
rarely  took  the  direction  of  legal  inquiry.  In  one  of 
the  bottom  drawers  of  his  desk  a  supply  of  the  latest 
publications  in  the  line  of  philosophy,  poetry,  and 
fiction  was  to  be  found.  His  new  interest,  however, 
was  politics,  which  he  conceived  might  help  him 
toward  an  introduction  to  the  litigious  portion  of 
the  community.  His  own  acquaintance  he  had  dis 
covered  to  be  exasperatingly  pacific  ;  or  if  they  ever 
did  get  into  the  meshes  of  the  law,  the  interests 
involved  were  apt  to  be  of  the  kind  that  require  the 
services  of  eminent  counsel.  Those  young  lawyers 
seemed  to  flourish  who  had  gained  the  confidence 
of  the  small  trades-people  and  mechanics.  Such 
folks  were  always  getting  into  difficulties. 

Accordingly  he  had  begun  to  attend  the  caucuses 
in  his  ward,  and  hobnob  with  some  of  the  local 
politicians.  He  was  aware  that  his  manners  were 
against  him,  so  to  speak,  and  that  he  wore  too  good 
clothes  to  attract  the  favor  of  those  who  handled 
the  wires  ;  but  he  did  not  permit  himself  to  become 
discouraged.  He  had  always  been  able  at  college 
to  tell  a  story  with  effect,  and  his  songs  were  still 
referred  to  by  present  undergraduates  (he  had  been 
told)  as  something  out  of  the  common.  A  little 
sociability  on  his  part,  he  felt  sure,  would  win  over 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  IOJ 

those  who  looked  at  him  askance.  He  had,  of 
course,  decided  views  regarding  the  necessity  of 
improving  political  methods,  but  it  would  be  judi 
cious  not  to  offend  the  managers  at  the  outset.  He 
tried,  therefore,  to  be  cordial  with  such  of  his  fel 
low-citizens  as  he  encountered  at  these  gatherings, 
and  to  avoid  anything  that  might  suggest  to  them 
invidious  distinctions.  He  even  studied  their  meth 
ods  in  the  way  of  etiquette,  and  in  pursuance  thereof 
invariably  removed  his  glove  before  shaking  hands, 
—  which  was  considered  a  badge  of  breeding  in 
municipal  circles. 

On  one  occasion  he  made  a  speech,  which  had 
the  effect  of  turning  the  scale  in  a  close  contest 
for  candidates  for  the  Assembly.  It  happened  that 
Finchley  the  broker,  who  was  of  the  same  political 
faith,  spoke  upon  the  opposite  side,  and  was  so 
much  surprised  at  such  an  ebullition  of  intelligence 
on  the  part  of  one  whom  he  had  set  down  as  "a 
gilded  flat,"  that  he  greeted  Stoughton  with  distinct 
cordiality  on  their  next  meeting,  and  gave  him  a 
valuable  point  on  the  stock  market.  Finchley  was 
himself  an  aspirant  for  political  preferment ;  and 
his  bustling,  business-like  demeanor  stood  him  in 
good  stead.  The  knowing  heads  pronounced  him 
as  likely  to  go  to  the  Legislature  in  a  year  or  two. 

It  was  the  habit  of  Remington  and  Stoughton  to 
drop  in  after  luncheon  at  the  broker's.  That  had 
become  quite  as  much  a  part  of  the  programme  of 
the  day  as  the  meal  itself.  Who  that  is  familiar  with 
the  purlieus  of  Wall  Street  has  not  been  struck  with 


104  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

the  change  that  has  come  over  the  appearance  and 
methods  of  that  great  money  centre  within  the  past 
few  years  ?  Wide-spreading,  massive  buildings, 
towering  with  roof  ornament,  the  uttermost  parts 
of  which  —  thanks  to  that  modern  invention,  the 
elevator  —  are  available,  dwarf  the  unpretentious 
structures  of  yore.  An  air  of  exceeding  prosperity 
pervades  the  throng  that  pours  at  noontide  along 
the  pavement  toward  the  restaurants,  —  a  throng 
denser  than  ever,  and  scarcely  more  at  leisure  than 
formerly,  but  better  groomed.  The  traditional 
gaunt  physiognomy  is  less  frequently  observable. 
In  its  stead  the  eye  falls  on  well-built,  scrupulously 
dressed  men,  strongly  allied,  save  for  a  freer' bear 
ing,  to  the  upper-class  Englishman,  —  on  faces  for 
eign  in  type,  suggestive  of  the  German,  the  Hebrew, 
and  of  a  blending  of  the  two,  —  suggestive,  in  fact, 
of  every  variety  of  nationality. 

But,  despite  its  motley  composition,  there  is  lit 
tle  of  the  Old  World  in  the  temper  of  this  crowd. 
With  the  change  of  soil,  they  seem  to  have  imbibed 
the  peculiar  restlessness  that  marks  the  American 
character.  The  feverish  rush  and  hurry  of  our  an 
cestors  is  still  observable.  One  takes,  to  be  sure, 
after  the  Continental  fashion,  his  coffee  upon  rising, 
and  eats  substantially  at  mid-day ;  but  who,  pray, 
lingers  more  leisurely  over  the  repast  because  of  its 
greater  profusion  ?  The  long  counter,  with  its  row 
of  high  stools, — favorite  resort  of  gastronomic  min 
ute-men  ;  the  dense  array  of  little  tables,  among 
which  waiters  bustle  with  scurrying  slapdash ;  the 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  1 05 

resonance  of  laughter,  the  clatter  of  crockery,  and 
tramp  of  feet,  falling  on  an  atmosphere  where  the 
oyster-bed  and  brewery  compete  in  full-flavored 
rivalry,  —  who  is  not  familiar  with  the  economics  of 
a  down-town  restaurant  ? 

In  most  of  these  resorts  —  which  are,  however, 
with  all  their  turbulence,  luxuriously  furnished  — 
a  stock  recorder,  technically  known  as  the  ticker,  a 
veritable  symbol  of  Black  Care  at  the  horseman's 
back,  plays  its  spasmodic  tune  in  some  conspicu 
ous  recess  adjacent  to  the  stream  of  life  that  comes 
and  goes.  It  is,  indeed,  a  monument  well  adapted 
to  mark  the  temper  of  the  age.  Now  and  again 
some  customer  steps  aside  to  pass  the  tape  over  his 
hand  with  a  quick  jerky  movement,  but  the  mass 
move  by  without  swerving.  Nor,  forsooth,  is  its 
presence  needful  to  suggest  to  the  lunching  public 
the  existence  of  a  short  cut  to  fortune.  What  is 
the  use  of  examining  the  list  where  every  one  can 
see  you,  when  J.  C.  Withington  &  Company  are 
just  round  the  corner?  The  grave  attorney,  who 
passes  this  modern  guillotine  without  a  wink  of 
the  eyelid,  has  already  posted  himself  regarding  the 
quotations  of  the  day,  believing  doubt  as  to  the 
state  of  one's  margin  to  be  a  poor  table  companion  ; 
and  the  two  clerks  who  trot  by  so  blithely  arm  in 
arm,  as  if  their  worry  was  but  second-hand,  —  their 
master's  business,  —  are  on  the  way  to  the  broker's. 

Remington  and  Stoughton  had  each,  as  has  been 
stated,  some  four  or  five  thousand  dollars  ;  which 
is  a  sum  ill  suited  to  the  purchase  of  high-priced, 


IO6  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

or,  as  the  envious  style  them,  gilt-edged  securities. 
One  can  buy  outright  but  a  very  small  interest  in 
safe  railroad  properties  with  that  amount  of  cash, 
and  the  return  on  the  investment  is  correspond 
ingly  inadequate.  Moreover,  a  man  who  purchases 
twenty,  or  even  fifty  shares  of  stock,  and  pays  for 
them,  makes  but  a  paltry  profit  in  case  of  a  rise  of 
ten  dollars  in  the  market  price,  compared  with  him 
who  carries  a  couple  of  hundred  on  a  twenty  per 
cent  margin.  All  this  argues  strongly  in  favor  of 
the  theory  that  wildcat,  and  hence  cheap,  proper 
ties  are  the  consolation  of  the  impecunious  who 
visit  Wall  Street.  Not  only  can  one  get  two  or 
three  times  as  much  stock  with  the  same  amount 
of  money,  but  the  chances  for  improvement  are 
infinitely  greater  ;  and  if  you  buy  on  a  margin,  you 
can  carry  enough  of  such  stuff  to  make  you  com 
fortable  for  life  in  case  things  turn  out  as  well  as 
you  expect.  Of  course  there  are  risks,  —  what  is 
not  attended  with  risk  in  this  world  ?  —  and  you 
may  come  to  grief;  that  is,  to  quote  the  parlance 
of  the  street,  be  sold  out.  But,  after  all,  it  is  no 
body's  affair  if  you  are.  The  margin  is  your  own  ; 
and  so,  vulgarly  speaking,  is  the  funeral.  The 
broker  will  look  after  himself  ;  trust  him  for 
that.  There  is  no  need  troubling  one's  head  on 
that  score. 

One  cannot,  it  must  be  confessed,  support  this 
buying  what  one  has  not  the  means  to  pay  for  (de 
spite  all  absence  of  concern  regarding  your  broker) 
on  any  theory  of  ethics.  But  then,  reasoned 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  IO/ 

Stoughton,  it  is  the  custom  of  the  country,  and  is 
getting  to  be  the  way  of  the  world.  In  short, 
everybody  does  it ;  and  as  we  grow  older,  we  be 
come  much  more  content  to  travel  in  the  same 
boat  with  everybody  else.  There  is  safety  in  num 
bers  ;  and,  moreover,  we  have  the  reflection  to  con 
sole  us,  in  case  we  go  to  pieces  in  the  process,  that 
it  will  be  all  the  same  a  hundred  years  hence.  That 
is  the  left  bower  of  our  philosophy ;  and  the  right 
bower  is  the  undeniable  need  of  growing  rich.  It 
is  a  question  of  chances  simply,  and  we  are  ready 
to  take  the  risk.  The  steady  humdrum  road  will 
probably  lead  us  to  competency  in  the  end,  if  we 
live  long  enough  ;  but  we  want  the  money  now. 
He  was  young,  and  could  enjoy  to-day.  Thirty 
years  hence  would  find  him  nearly  bedridden.  He 
was  prepared  to  take  the  risks.  Bring  on  your 
wildcats. 

And  then,  too,  after  all,  would  one  come  to  grief  ? 
Statistics  show,  it  is  said,  that  ninety-nine  out  of 
every  hundred  men  who  frequent  brokers'  shops 
are  ruined.  Granted,  perhaps  ;  but  who  is  to 
guarantee  that  we  are  not  to  be  the  hundredth 
man?  Other  fellows  are  rash  and  short-sighted, 
ignorant  and  unreasoning.  They  buy  at  fancy 
prices,  and  without  careful  investigation.  It  is 
playing  with  fire,  of  course  ;  but  if  one  is  prudent, 
and  goes  into  the  thing  systematically,  there  is  no 
reason  why  one  should  not  make  a  handsome  thing 
out  of  it  in  a  quiet  way.  Study  up  values,  and 
post  yourself  on  the  actual  condition  of  properties, 


108  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

and  you  have  the  key  to  the  situation  in  the  hollow 
of  your  hand. 

Such  is  a  coarse  presentation  of  the  reasoning 
that  induced  Woodbury  Stoughton  to  sell  out  the 
disgustingly  safe  bonds  in  which  his  pittance  was 
invested,  a.nd  locate,  as  the  newspapers  delight  to 
say,  the  proceeds  elsewhere.  The  rumor  reached 
him  that  Olny  &  Longville  —  a  Southern  railroad, 
which,  like  the  decayed  gentry  of  that  cotton 
clime,  had  known  better  days  —  was  about  to  ad 
vance.  He  had  the  point  from  an  insider  (at  least 
his  .informant  declared  himself  to  be  one) ;  and  a 
shrewd  knowledge  of  whom  to  trust  was  one  of  the 
characteristics  upon  which  Stoughton  prided  him 
self.  He  acted  at  once,  and,  buying  at  eighty-five, 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing,  within  three  days,  his 
purchase  rise  fifteen  per  cent.  Finchley,  through 
whom  he  had  dealt,  suggested  the  advisability  of 
realizing  such  a  handsome  profit ;  but  the  young 
speculator  thought  otherwise.  "  It  will  sell  at  one 
hundred  and  fifty.  I  am  advised  to  cling  on  to  it/' 
he  remarked  knowingly.  This  had  been  just  after 
the  speech  at  the  caucus,  and  Finchley  felt  there 
fore  less  disposed  to  criticise  his  customer.  The 
result  proved  the  soundness  of  Stough ton's  judg 
ment,  as  the  latter  expressed  it  to  Remington.  He 
sold  out,  at  the  end  of  ten  days,  at  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five.  "  Not  bad  for  a  flyer,"  he  remarked, 
with  elation.  And  indeed  it  was  not.  He  had 
bought  two  hundred  shares,  and  put  up  his  original 
four  thousand  dollars  as  a  margin.  His  property 


AN   AVERAGE  MAN. 


had  exactly  trebled  itself.  Previous  to  this  he  had 
already  made  a  few  hundreds  by  his  ventures  in 
Northern  Pacific,  and  one  or  two  other  stocks.  But 
then  he  had  bought  outright,  and  hence  been  able 
to  hold  only  a  few  shares  at  a  time.  This  -other 
sort  of  thing  was  much  more  satisfactory,  and  just 
as  safe  if  one  only  used  judgment. 

Remington,  on  the  other  hand,  had  been  less 
fortunate.  He  had  held  off  entirely  for  some  time, 
merely  sufficing  himself  with  changing  his  bonds 
for  an  eight  per  cent  stock  that  was  almost  as 
unprofitably  sound.  Speculation  was  one  of  those 
methods  that  stuck  in  his  ethical  crop.  He  had 
been  brought  up  with  the  idea  that  it  was  not 
quite  reputable,  and  altogether  unsafe.  But  then, 
to  be  sure,  every  one  did  speculate  nowadays  ;  and 
what  Stoughton  said  was  true  enough,  in  a  sense. 
The  money  was  his  own  ;  and  if  he  was  shrewd 
"enough  to  see  a  way  of  increasing  it  at  a  little  risk, 
why  should  n't  he  ?  All  business  was  attended 
with  more  or  less  risk,  and  it  was  the  man  who  had 
the  longest  head  who  usually  came  out  at  the  top 
of  the  heap.  As  to  buying  what  you  could  n't  pay 
for,  and  selling  what  you  had  n't  got,  that  kind  of 
thing  was  not  confined  to  stocks.  It  existed  in  all 
departments  of  trade,  —  in  grain,  cotton,  and  the 
various  raw  materials  ;  in  fact,  it  was  the  principle 
of  most  modern  business.  And  so  Remington  had 
by  degrees  got  into  the  habit  of  taking  flyers  also. 
It  was  an  easy  way  of  making  money,  and  his  ex 
penses  were  undoubtedly  increasing.  But  Olny 


IIO  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

&  Longvilles  are  not  to  be  found  every  day  ;  or 
if  one  is  fortunate  enough  to  run  across  one, 
there  is  apt  to  be  a  corresponding  drop  in  some 
thing  else  on  the  list  which  you  hold.  Reming 
ton's  stocks  had  n't  gone  up  for  a  cent,  to  adopt  a 
bit  of  financial  slang.  He  had  experienced  hard 
luck,  too,  inasmuch  as  he  had  seen  several  ventures 
which  he  had  tipped  out,  after  holding  them  for  a 
month  without  profit,  jump  up  five  points  the  day 
after.  "  You  get  scared  too  easily  ;  you  don't  sit 
on  things  long  enough,"  Stoughton  would  say  with 
the  air  of  a  connoisseur.  "A  man  can't  expect  to 
make  a  fortune  in  a  minute.  Now,  for  instance,  I 
bought  yesterday  a  thousand  shares  in  a  Nevada 
silver  mine  —  the  Morning  Star  —  that  I  shall  very 
likely  have  to  hold  for  a  year.  I  got  in  at  bottom 
prices,  and  I  am  going  to  sit  on  it.  You  have  n't 
done  badly  as  a  whole.  You  're  ahead  on  the  entire 
racket  for  the  year.  What 's  the  use  in  souring  on 
your  luck?  If  you  only  persevere  and  use  judg 
ment,  you  '11  come  out  all  right." 

Thus  life  down  town  was  interesting  enough. 
From  one  end  of  the  week  to  the  other  there  was 
very  little  chance  for  rest ;  and  when  Sunday  came, 
—  well,  on  Sunday  most  fellows  slept  pretty  late. 
Remington  did,  however,  usually  manage  to  get  to 
church  about  every  other  Sabbath.  It  was  his  in 
tention  to  go  always  ;  but  the  arms  of  Morpheus 
are  tenacious,  when  one  has  an  opportunity  of  mak 
ing  up  arrears.  Still,  Miss  Crosby  worshipped  at 
the  same  sanctuary. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  Ill 

Sunday  is  not  really  much  more  of  a  day  of  rest 
in  New  York  than  any  of  the  other  six.  Every  one 
blessed  with  female  acquaintances  has  occasionally 
to  visit  them ;  and  frequenters  of  balls  and  dinner 
parties  must  call  on  their  benefactors  if  they  wish 
to  be  counted  in  next  time.  At  least,  Mrs.  Field 
ing  made  it  an  invariable  rule  never  to  ask  any 
one  inside  her  house  who  had  not  acknowledged 
in  person  a  previous  invitation.  She,  to  be  sure, 
could  afford  to  be  select ;  and  the  same  action  on 
the  part  of  a  less  admired  hostess  might  have 
produced  derision  rather  than  consternation.  But 
even  the  most  lax  and  barefaced  of  youthful  spirits 
are  apt  to  bewail  their  negligence  regarding  visits. 
We  would  call  if  we  only  had  time,  they  all  cry ; 
we  never  get  up  town  in  time.  But  then  there  is 
Sunday ;  and  the  truly  conscientious  young  man 
reads  the  commandment :  "  Six  days  thou  shalt 
labor  and  do  all  that  thou  hast  to  do,  and  the 
seventh  day  thou  shalt  call."  Even  Stoughton, 
who  habitually  cut  church,  and  spent  his  forenoon 
propped  on  the  pillows,  amid  the  Penates  of  his 
own  chamber,  with  the  Sunday  papers,  always 
shaved  himself  in  time  to  make  one  or  two  visits 
before  dinner. 

One  Sunday  afternoon,  about  three  weeks  after 
the  Idlewilds'  ball,  Woodbury  Stoughton  dropped 
in  upon  Miss  Crosby.  He  had  intimated  to  her  at 
a  party  a  few  nights  before  that  he  would  try  to 
do  so.  Those  who  knew  Dorothy  well,  and  were 
familiar  with  the  brilliant  career  and  marriage  of 


112  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

her  sister,  Mrs.  Maclane,  had  prior  to  her  dtbut 
shaken  their  heads  a  little  in  private.  She  was 
bookish  and  quiet.  She  had  ever  evinced  so  much 
taste  for  more  tranquil  pleasures  that  there  might 
be  a  question  as  to  whether  she  would  become 
enthusiastic  over  society.  And  to  be  successful  in 
the  gay  world  one  must  be  enthusiastic.  She  was 
of  course  very  pretty  and  ladylike,  and  sweet  to 
look  at.  But  would  she  say  anything,  —  would  she 
talk  ?  Were  not  her  quiet  ways  likely  to  obscure 
her  real  cleverness,  and  deter  prudent  men  from 
running  the  risk  of  stranding  themselves  for  the 
evening  by  conversing  with  her  ?  Balls  are  not,  or 
ought  not  to  be,  charitable  institutions  ;  and  girls 
who  draw  into  their  shells  are  apt  to  have  a  dull 
time.  A  few  evenings  of  neglect  are  quite  as  suffi 
cient  to  sour  the  feminine  milk  of  human  kindness 
as  a  thunder-storm  the  ordinary  lactic  fluid ;  and 
was  not  Dorothy  just  the  sort  of  young  person  to 
set  down  society  as  hollow,  because  nobody  asked 
her  for  the  german  ? 

Our  nearest  and  dearest,  however,  prove  some 
times  quite  mistaken  in  their  predictions.  What  a 
miss  of  eighteen  will  develop  into  before  the  close 
of  her  first  winter  is  beyond  the  calculation  of 
parents.  Mrs.  Crosby,  to  be  sure,  had  expended 
every  penny  that  her  income  would  allow  to  have 
her  daughter  well  dressed ;  but  exquisite  clothes 
never  yet  made  a  girl  a  belle.  Dorothy's  air  of 
good  breeding  and  eloquent  face  had  drawn  to  the 
small  parlor  in  Washington  Square,  where  she  was 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  113 

wont  to  provide  five-o'clock  tea,  a  goodly  array  of 
admirers  ere  many  weeks  of  the  winter  had  slipped 
away.  Men  liked  to  talk  to  her,  for  she  was  always 
so  sympathetic,  and  ready  to  show  interest  in  what 
concerned  them.  She  was  quick  to  catch  the 
meaning  of  their  various  theories  and  pet  ideas  ; 
and  new  lines  of  speculation  were  apt  to  call  forth 
from  her  eyes  that  expression  of  intensity  which 
was  flattering  to  the  speaker.  She  was  a  good 
deal  of  a  belle ;  or,  rather,  she  would  have  been  a 
tearing  success  had  it  not .  been  currently  known 
that  she  was  comparatively  portionless.  As  it  was, 
she  received  much  attention  in  a  quiet  sort  of  way  ; 
and  the  sight  of  occasional  superb  bouquets  in  her 
hand  at  parties,  or  cut  flowers  on  the  parlor  table, 
filled  the  hearts  of  such  of  her  admirers  who  could 
not  afford  these  expensive  tokens  of  devotion  with 
uneasiness. 

"  No,  thank  you  ;  tea  always  spoils  my  appetite 
for  dinner,"  said  Stoughton,  in  response  to  her  prof 
fered  hospitality ;  and  he  watched  Miss  Crosby 
pour  out  a  cup  for  herself  with  a  graceful  undula- 
tory  movement  of  the  arm,  and  her  head  on  one 
side  as  if  she  were  pondering  the  virtuous  wisdom 
of  his  remark.  She  had  of  course  no  suspicion  of 
the  cocktail  he  would  order  some  three  quarters 
of  an  hour  later.  She  was  fascinating ;  no  doubt 
about  that.  She  would  make  a  charming  wife  for 
a  man.  But  what  was  the  use  of  upsetting  himself 
by  thinking  on  impossible  things  ?  He  could  n't 
afford  to  marry  the  girl.  He  had  come  here 
to  have  a  quiet  chat.  It  was  a  great  pleasure 

8 


114  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

to  talk  to  her,  for  she  always  comprehended  him  so 
easily. 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Stoughton,  you  have  brought  with 
you  the  verses  you  spoke  about  the  other  evening 
at  Mrs.  Lawton's." 

"  Yes,  I  have  them  somewhere  about  me,  I  be 
lieve.  They  're  only  servile  plagiarism  anyway," 
he  said,  fumbling  in  his  tail  pocket.  "Ah,  yes, 
here  they  are." 

As  he  proceeded  to  unfold  the  manuscript,  Doro 
thy  leaned  back  in  the  big  arm-chair,  and  clasped 
her  hands  on  her  lap,  prepared  to  listen.  "  What 
fun  it  must  be  to  be  able  to  write  !  " 

Stoughton  gave  a  little  prefatory  cough. 

I  'd  love  thee,  sweet,  forever, 

If  I  were  not  the  child  of  fate ; 
No  power  our  days  should  sever, 

Could  I  but  burst  the  gate 
Which  keeps  our  lips  apart, 
Keeps  thy  heart  from  my  heart. 

But  destiny  unbending, 

And  ruthless  as  the  sea, 
Cries,  "  Though  love  have  no  ending, 

To  love  is  not  for  thee !  " 
And  I  — 

Just  then  the  portiere  was  drawn  aside  to  admit 
a  visitor.  It  proved  to  be  Mr.  Ramsay  Whiting, 
whose  attentions  to  Dorothy  had  become  conspicu 
ous  of  late. 

"  Hard  lines,"  murmured  Stoughton,  under  his 
breath,  which  expression,  however,  was  intended  to 
be  typical  of  his  luck,  not  of  the  .verses. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  1 15 

"  I  hope  I  have  n't  interrupted  anything,"  said 
Whiting,  conscious  of  the  pause  which  followed  his 
reception  by  Miss  Dorothy. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  replied,  na'fvely.  "  Mr.  Stoughton 
was  just  reading  some  poetry  he  had  written. 
Perhaps  he  won't  mind  going  on  now." 

"  Do !  Don't  mind  me,  really,"  exclaimed  the 
new-comer,  urgently,  but  with  a  slight  grin. 

Stoughton  begged  to  be  excused.  The  verses 
were  nothing,  he  said,  but  a  condensation  of  a  little 
philosophical  discussion  he  and  Miss  Crosby  had 
entered  upon  the  other  evening.  The  idea  of  read 
ing  them  before  Ramsay  Whiting,  who,  good  fellow 
as  he  was,  had  probably  never  opened  a  book  of 
poetry  of  his  own  accord  in  his  life,  struck  him  as 
immensely  humorous,  and  he  returned  the  other's 
grin  with  interest.  Whiting  was  going  to  devote 
himself  to  farming.  He  had  some  fine  lands  in 
the  interior  of  the  State,  and  his  large  fortune 
would  allow  him  to  sow  without  reaping  for  many 
years  to  come.  He  had  set  to  work,  however,  most 
industriously,  and  the  world  were  agreed  that 
Dorothy  would  be  just  the  wife  for  him. 

"  That  black  bull  is  dead,"  he  observed  confiden 
tially,  when  Stoughton  had  taken  his  departure. 

Dorothy  sometimes  got  tired  of  agriculture  as  a 
topic  of  conversation,  but  Mr.  Whiting  was  so  kind 
and  amiable  that  she  managed  in  the  end  to  excuse 
his  lack  of  brilliancy. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  in  response  to  her  expressions 
of  sympathy,  "  I  should  rather  have  lost  any  of  the 


Il6  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

others.  But,  by  the  way,  Miss  Crosby,  I  told  Hines 
to  send  down  that  bay  mare  I  spoke  to  you  about. 
She  would  just  suit  you,  I  'm  sure,  and  I  shall  be 
delighted  if  you  will  ride  her." 

The  eager  manner  of  the  young  man  made 
Dorothy  blush  a  little.  "  You  are  very  kind,"  she 
said,  "  but  I  'm  afraid  I  shall  not  be  able  to  ride 
this  spring.  What  with  society  and  my  German 
and  music  lessons,  I  have  all  to  do  I  can  possibly 
find  time  for.  Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Remington  ? " 
She  rose  to  greet  her  friend. 

Despite  the  graciousness  of  his  welcome,  Rem 
ington  was  very  formal  in  his  behavior.  Ramsay 
Whiting  had  been  there  lately  whenever  he  called. 
There  were  roses  on  the  piano,  and  she  wore  some 
in  her  corsage  also.  Whiting  is  rich,  he  thought, 
and  she  is  going  to  marry  him  for  his  money. 
That 's  the  way  with  girls  nowadays,  —  they  are 
all  so  mercenary.  He  had  supposed  this  one  to  be 
an  exception. 

He  sat  indenting  the  carpet  with  his  cane,  and 
saying  but  very  little.  For  the  sake  of  politeness 
he  laughed  in  a  sickly  fashion  when  anything 
amusing  was  said  by  the  others,  who  were  now 
talking  briskly.  Dorothy  seemed  quite  excited  and 
interested.  Apparently  she  paid  no  attention  to 
Remington's  moroseness.  When  he  arose  to  go, 
as  he  did  soon,  under  the  influence  of  his  mood,  she 
bade  him  good-by,  all  smiles  and  quite  indifferently. 

Ramsay  Whiting's  attentions  had  given  great 
satisfaction  to  Mrs.  Crosby,  who,  as  she  often  an- 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  1 1/ 

nounced  to  her  daughter,  had  heard  nothing  but 
pleasant  things  regarding  him.  He  had  good  man 
ners,  and  was  irreproachable  in  his  habits  ;  so  every 
one  said.  "  He  is  n't  very  bright,  mamma,"  re 
marked  Dorothy,  that  evening.  Mr.  Whiting  had 
stayed  nearly  an  hour,  and  had  not  been  especially 
edifying,  as  Pauline  Lawton  would  have  said. 

"  I  sometimes  think,  my  dear,"  replied  her  parent, 
after  a  pause,  "  that  you  have  too  romantic  ideas  on 
these  matters.  I  sympathize  of  course  with  your 
general  views;  but  you  must  not  forget,  Dorothy, 
that,  after  all,  life  is  practical.  You  cannot  expect 
to  find  perfection  in  this  world." 

"  No,  mamma,  I  don't  see  many  signs  of  it,"  said 
the  daughter,  a  little  wickedly.  They  were  both 
busy  with  their  work.  Dorothy  had  in  hand  a 
large  piece  of  canvas,  on  which  she  was  embroi 
dering  flowers  in  floss.  She  glanced  up  for  an  in 
stant  stealthily  at  her  mother,  the  click  of  whose 
large  wooden  needles  was  the  only  sound  in  the 
little  parlor  for  some  minutes. 

"  Why  is  not  Mr.  Ramsay  Whiting,  Dorothy,  as 
attractive  as  Mr.  Stoughton  or  Mr.  Remington  ? " 

"  I  did  not  say  he  was  n't,  mamma." 

"  No,  my  dear  ;  but  I  have  noticed  that  you  seem 
to  have  a  partiality  for  young  men  who  are  with 
out  prospects.  You  must  not  misunderstand  me, 
Dorothy.  I  do  not  wish  to  say  anything  against 
your  friends,  or  to  make  mercenary  suggestions, 
I  believe  them  both  to  be  most  excellent  young 
men  ;  but  they  are  neither  of  them  likely  to  be 


Il8  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

in  a  position  to  be  married  for  a  long  time  to 
come." 

"  They  are  getting  on  very  well  in  their  practice." 

"I  dare  say,  dear;  but  it  takes  a  large  income 
nowadays  to  go  to  housekeeping  with." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  go  to  housekeeping 
with  any  one.  In  the  first  place,  nobody  has  asked 
me ;  and  in  the  next,  I  would  n't  have  them  if  they 
did,"  said  Dorothy,  emphatically.  "  I  don't  see  why 
you  're  in  such  a  hurry  to  marry  me  off,  mamma." 

"  When  your  father  and  I  started  life  together," 
said  Mrs.  Crosby,  —  who,  lost  in  a  reflection  on 
matrimonial  wherewithals,  scarcely  heeded  her 
daughter's  remark,  —  "  we  had  only  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  a  year.  We  kept  one  servant,  and  put  out 
the  washing.  I  don't  see  how  we  lived  exactly, 
but  we  managed  to  get  along."  She  shook  her 
head  mournfully  in  the  fulness  of  her  reminis 
cence,  for  those  had  been  happy  years  she  was  re 
calling.  "  Girls  to-day  are  not  content  unless  they 
have  everything  their  fathers  and  mothers  left  off 
with." 

Dorothy  made  no  reply.  She  was  used  to  these 
discussions  with  her  mother,  one  of  whose  hobbies 
was  the  matrimonial  question.  "  Mamma  will  never 
be  quite  happy  until  she  has  me  off  her  mind," 
Dorothy  was  wont  to  remark.  With -all  their  affec 
tion  for  each  other,  —  and  they  were  extremely 
devoted  in  a  way,- —  Mrs.  Crosby  had  not  been  able 
to  establish  that  relation  with  her  daughter  which 
springs  from  a  complete  sympathy  of  tastes  and 


'  AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  1 19 

ideas.  They  were  much  together  ;  and  Dorothy 
would  have  done  anything  in  the  world  to  please 
her  parent ;  but  somehow  or  other  she  had  ceased 
to  make  of  her  a  confidante,  —  to  share  with  her  the 
puzzling  reflections  that  occur  to  every  thoughtful 
girl.  Why  this  was  so,  Dorothy  scarcely  knew  her 
self.  It  had  come  about  by  degrees,  as  do  all  such 
partial  estrangements,  and  was  a  frequent  source  of 
unhappiness  to  both.  Mrs.  Crosby  complained  in 
sour  moments  of  being  lonely,  and  at  such  times 
openly  grudged  the  intimacy  that  Dorothy  enjoyed 
with  Pauline  Lawton,  a  younger  sister  of  the  viva 
cious  Florence.  The  daughter  was  apt  to  remain 
silent  under  such  accusation.  She  recognized  the 
truth  of  the  statements.  She  did  tell  Pauline 
everything,  and  concealed  her  intimate  self  from 
her  mother.  Still,  how  was  it  to  be  remedied  ? 
That  was  the  important  point;  and  here  it  was 
that  Dorothy  realized,  as  it  were,  a  certain  hope 
lessness.  "  Mamma  does  not  understand  me,"  she 
would  say  to  herself,  as  she  lay  recumbent  on  the 
outside  of  her  bed,  where  she  was  apt  to  throw  her 
self  for  reverie  at  night  before  undressing.  "  She 
does  not  care  for  the  things  that  I  do.  My  ideas 
do  not  interest  her.  We  are  different." 

Mrs.  Crosby  was  a  plump,  easy-going  woman, 
between  forty-five  and  fifty.  She  had  retained 
much  of  the  vivacity  and  quickness  of  wit  which 
had  marked  her  as  a  girl,  as  well  as  that  peculiarly 
cordial  manner  which  makes  many  Baltimoreans 
so  charming.  She  wore  habitually  a  hellish  air,  as 


I2O  AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  ' 

if  wishing  the  world  to  believe  that,  though  unlikely 
seriously  to  consider  a  second  marriage,  she  was 
still  able  to  control  her  destiny  in  this  respect. 
She  now  rarely  went  into  society  on  her  own  ac 
count  ;  but  her  little  parlor  was  a  favorite  resort  for 
some  of  the  cleverest  men  in  town,  —  men  who, 
like  the  hostess  herself,  were  in  the  prime  of  middle 
life.  She  delighted  to  see  people,  and  always  had 
enough  to  say,  —  a  circumstance  which  rather 
tended  to  put  poor  Dorothy,  who  had  little  of  the 
maternal  sprightliness  before  company,  in  the  shade. 
Mrs.  Crosby  was  every  inch  a  lady,  and  bore  the 
privations  of  a  very  moderate  income  with  a  per 
fect  dignity.  She  had  never  wholly  laid  aside  the 
mourning  put  on  for  her  husband  fifteen  years  ago. 
Black  silk  was  becoming  to  her  ;  but,  apart  from 
that,  she  eschewed  gay  colors  out  of  sentiment. 
She  spent  much  of  her  leisure  in  reading  clever 
French  novels. 

Under  the  pressure  of  that  propensity  to  analyze 
their  parents  which  is  a  characteristic  of  American 
girls,  Dorothy  had  often  puzzled  her  mind  as  to 
what  her  mother  had  been  like  at  her  age.  The 
romantic  story  of  her  parents'  run-away  match  was 
of  course  familiar  to  her,  and  had  shed,  so  to  speak, 
a  wake  of  poesy  over  her  youth.  There  had  been 
a  time  when  mamma  had  seemed  to  her  the  very 
embodiment  of  genuine  romance  ;  but  that  was  long 
ago.  The  change  in  the  daughter's  feelings  had,  as 
has  been  said,  taken  place  gradually ;  but  a  sense  of 
reluctant  criticism  had  grown  up  in  its  stead  within 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  121 

her  heart.  Her  mother  seemed  to  her  now  so  in 
different  to  ideal  considerations,  so  matter-of-fact, 
if  not  worldly,  in  her  estimates !  If  she  did  not 
laugh  at  things  which  were  sacred  to  Dorothy,  she 
took  no  interest  in  them,  or  spoke  of  them  as  of 
secondary  importance.  It  was  perhaps,  after  all,  not 
so  much  what  Mrs.  Crosby  said,  as  what  she  did 
not  say,  that  troubled  the  girl.  It  was  the  apparent 
diversity  in  their  respective  plans  of  life  that  op 
pressed  poor  Dorothy.  Would  she  herself  be  like 
that  some  day  ?  Was  mamma  once  as  much  in 
earnest  and  as  full  of  aspirations  as  she  ?  How 
often  would  she  ponder  these  questions  and  the 
train  of  thought  which  they  set  in  motion,  in  the 
solitude  of  her  chamber  ! 

She  was,  indeed,  in  earnest,  —  sweet,  serious-faced 
Dorothy ;  and,  hand  in  hand  with  her  idealism,  she 
had  nourished  a  clear  and  penetrating  intelligence, 
—  an  intelligence  that,  moreover,  was  analytic  in 
its  processes.  With  all  her  susceptibility  to  sen 
timental  considerations,  she  was  pre-eminently  a 
seeker  after  truth.  Her  mind  was  a  tribunal  where 
she  criticised  her  every  action  with  rigid  impar 
tiality.  She  liked  to  sift  things  to  the  bottom, 
and  to  flood  them  with  light.  Speculation  and  in 
quiry  interested  her,  and  she  was  ever  alive  to  there 
being  two  sides  to  most  questions.  Her  attitude 
was  almost  judicial,  so  deliberate  did  she  strive  to 
be  in  her  judgments.  She  possessed  a  strong 
humorous  perception  (although,  in  common  with 
all.  women,  unable  to  appreciate  a  jest  at  her  own 


122  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 


expense),  and  a  fund  of  irony,  which  she  did  not 
hesitate  to  employ  against  herself. 

This  habit  of  unflinching  introspection  was  one 
of  Dorothy's  chief  characteristics.  Inherent  in  her 
disposition,  which  strongly  resembled  that  of  her 
father,  it  had  been  fostered  by,  or  rather  it  had 
fostered  itself  upon,  the  excellent  school  training 
she  had  received.  To  be  sure,  it  had  had  the 
effect  of  making  her,  during  the  last  year  or  two 
prior  to  her  debut,  reserved  and  conscious,  perhaps 
a  little  morbid.  But  she  had  acquired  thereby  a 
potent  grasp  over  herself.  Her  shyness  and  self- 
absorption  at  that  period  had  been  a  source  of 
uneasiness  to  her  mother,  who  had  looked  for  a 
repetition  of  Mrs.  Maclane's  vivacity.  Brimful  as 
she  was  with  feeling,  Dorothy  had  been  deficient 
in  demonstrativeness ;  in  fact,  she  was  never  super 
abundant  in  animal  spirits.  Mrs.  Crosby  having, 
after  diagnosis,  made  up  her  mind  that  her  daugh 
ter  was  over-sentimental,  had  been  prompted  to 
present  to  Dorothy,  with  a  greater  force  than  she 
would  have  done  otherwise,  the  desirability  of  being 
more  like  other  people,  — of  being  practical.  Not 
even  after  the  ugly  duckling  had  lessened  the  ma 
ternal  solicitude,  by  force  of  a  charming  transfor 
mation,  did  Mrs.  Crosby  see  any  reason  to  alter 
her  opinion.  She  thought  she  understood  the  girl 
completely,  and  flattered  herself  that  her  hints  and 
nagging,  as  the  victim  called  it,  had  done  much  to 
effect  the  evolution  in  question. 

Dorothy  had  brought  away  from  school  beliefs 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  123 

that  were  simple  and  innocent.  The  scheme  of 
ethics  upon  which  her  conscientiousness  had  ex 
pended  itself  was  of  a  comparatively  primitive 
order.  The  world,  she  had  come  to  consider,  was 
a  place  where  men  and  women  had  been  put  to  fit 
them  for  existence  in  a  future  state.  To  be  un 
selfish,  and  eager  to  do  all  the  good  one  could, 
seemed  to  her  the  most  natural  thing  possible. 
Why  men  committed  crimes,  why  they  were  sinful, 
or  even  idle,  was  quite  incomprehensible  to  her. 
There  was  so  much  to  do  in  life,  and  the  time  was 
so  short  in  which  to  do  it.  Christ  had  died  to  save 
men  from  their  sins  ;  and  were  they  not  willing  to 
live  righteously  for  his  sake  ?  She  would  do  so  at 
least ;  she  would  prove  herself  worthy,  so  far  as 
mortal  was  able,  of  the  great  atonement. 

What  she  was  going  to  do  had  not  been  pre 
cisely  clear  to  her;  but  the  doubt  had  never  entered 
her  mind  but  that  the  path  would  be  evident 
enough.  It  might  be  beset  with  temptations  ;  but 
were  not  faith  and  conscience  proof  against  the 
subtlest  snares  ?  The  way  for  men  was  simpler 
perhaps  ;  but  woman's  missions,  if  more  humble, 
were  none  the  less  of  service. 

Side  by  side  in  her  breast  with  these  pure  aspira 
tions,  had  nestled  delightful  hopes  and  imaginings 
regarding  the  social  world  where  she  was  shortly 
to  figure.  She  had  grown  to  look  forward  to  a 
brilliant  career  in  society  as  a  natural  phase  in  a 
woman's  destiny.  The  thought  that  she  was  only 
one  of  a  small  minority  of  the  earth's  inhabitants 


124  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

who  spent  their  youth  in  such  a  manner  did  not 
occur  to  her ;  or  if  it  did,  she  dwelt  upon  her  good 
fortune,  and  contrasted  it  pityingly  with  the  general 
misery.  The  doubts  and  wonderings  as  to  whether 
she  should  enjoy  herself,  —  the  vague  but  blissful 
dreams  of  conquests  and  adventures,  of  ideal  ad 
mirers  whose  very  suggestion  caused  her  to  blush, 
in  the  dark,  —  had  become  her  constant  and  ab 
sorbing  companions.  The  thought  of  doing  other 
wise  than  those  among  whom  she  had  been  brought 
up  never  presented  itself  to  her.  To  come  out  was 
a  part  of  the  ordinary  sequence  of  a  maiden's 
days. 

So  from  guileless  girlhood  she  had  glided  into 
real  life ;  and  the  first  experience  of  the  same  had 
been  even  sweeter  than  anticipation, — sweeter  and 
yet  different.  The  visions' and  fancies  had  scarcely 
fulfilled  themselves  in  the  ways  she  had  imagined  ; 
but  the  entrancement  of  reality  was  an  intoxicating 
substitute.  The  admiration  of  men  of  flesh  and 
blood  flattered  her,  even  while  she  wondered  at  its 
diversity  from  what  she  had  pictured  in  her  maiden 
musings.  She  had  been  captivated  by  the  delight 
ful  experience  of  becoming  acquainted  with  her 
own  powers,  by  the  exquisite  novelty  of  being  sought 
and  courted.  With  open,  yet  dazzled  eyes,  as  in  a 
delicious  trance,  she  had  let  herself  be  swept  along 
by  the  current  of  this  strange,  new  existence. 

But  of  late  a  sense  of  awakening  had  come  over 
her,  —  not  an  abrupt  and  disagreeable  experience, 
but,  as  it  were,  a  slackening  of  the  cord's  tension,  a 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  125 

gentle  restoration  to  consciousness.  The  propor 
tions  of  things  were  assuming  more  of  a  normal 
condition,  and  there  seemed  to  be'  some  chain  of 
connection  between  the  new  life  and  the  old.  And 
yet,  though  painless,  this  coming  back  to  reality 
was  far  from  a  return  to  the  former  status.  In  the 
past  few  months  she  appeared  to  have  lived  years, 
and,  like  the  Sleeping  Beauty  in  the  fable,  had 
awaked  to  find  herself  the  same,  and  yet  different. 
The  mirror  of  fancy  upon  which  she  had  breathed 
as  a  child,  and  traced  with  facile  finger  conceptions 
beautiful  and  fantastic  as  frostwork,  had  been  wiped 
clean  by  the  unfaltering  hand  of  experience,  and  to 
day  she  saw  therein  but  the  reflection  of  her  own 
fair  face.  Puzzled  and  bewildered,  uncertain  and 
dismayed,  she  was  confronting  life's  reality,  and 
bending  on  its  mystery  the  strength  of  her  keen, 
honest  intelligence  and  pure  heart. 

She  lay  on  the  outside  of  her  bed  that  night, 
after  the  conversation  with  her  mother,  her  head 
resting  upon  her  clasped  hands,  thinking.  Her 
mental  glance  sped,  with  the  swiftness  common  to 
woman,  wide  over  the  field  of  human  speculation, 
touching  with  thirsty  inquiry  on  the  dearest  inter 
ests  of  mortality.  What  did  it  all  mean  ?  What 
was  the  purpose  of  it  all  ?  What  relation  was  there 
between  the  strange  yearnings  with  which  she 
thrilled  at  times,  and  the  bustling  world  that  roared 
about  her  on  every  side  ?  She  too  was  one  of  the 
dwellers  upon  earth,  and  she  must  play  her  part  in 
the  struggle  of  life.  Her  part,  —  what  was  her 


126  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

part  ?  As  she  pondered,  a  vivid  sense  of  the  in 
congruity  between  the  simple  faiths  of  her  child 
hood  and  the  actual  sphere  of  her  activity  came 
over  her.  Whisperings  of  such  a  kind  had  been 
heard  by  her  often  of  late,  and  they  would  not  be 
put  aside,  as  she  in  the  plenitude  of  her  happiness 
perhaps  would  fain  have  put  them  aside.  What 
was  she  living  for  ?  What  was  she  trying  to  be 
come,  —  seeking  to  be  ? 

She  thought  of  her  daily  life,  —  of  the  balls  and 
thousand  and  one  gayeties  she  enjoyed  so  keenly, 
of  the  constant  round  of  pleasure  and  excitement. 
She  delighted  in  them.  Oh,  yes,  they  gave  her  so 
much  happiness.  But  what  was  it  all  leading  to  ? 
What  was  the  sense  of  it  all  ?  Was  this  the  part 
she  was  put  upon  earth  to  play  r  What  did  she  do 
in  the  course  of  the  week  that  was  useful,  —  that 
helped  to  smooth  the  axle  of  the  great  world  to 
which  she  belonged  ?  She  took  a  few  lessons  in 
music  ;  she  made  an  occasional  flying  visit  to  a 
sick  friend  ;  she  tore  from  street  to  street  to  pay 
formal  society  calls  ;  she  went  to  lunch  luxuriously 
with  a  bevy  of  girls  ;  and  at  night  she  sallied  forth 
to  dinner  and  the  german.  There  was  the  pro 
gramme.  On  Sundays  she  went  to  the  church,  and, 
kneeling,  vowed  at  the  altar  of  the  true  Lord  to 
live  "  a  godly,  righteous,  and  sober  life."  How  grim 
a  mockery,  and  how  cruel  a  satire !  Her  thin  lip 
curled  with  the  biting  consciousness  of  the  irony. 

Ah,  yes !  But  what  was  she  to  do  ?  Life  was 
real.  Life  was  practical.  She  had  come  to  be 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  I2/ 

what  she  was,  and  had  been  placed  where  she  was, 
without  her  own  agency  or  control.  If  she  were  to 
change  her  habits,  and  renounce  all  these  pleasant 
things,  what  should  she  do  ?  Society,  after  all,  must 
exist  and  calls  must  be  made.  Girls  must  be  in 
troduced  to  the  world,  and  how  except  through  the 
medium  of  entertainments  ?  The  ways  were  doubt 
less  exaggerated,  the  methods  mistaken  ;  but  what 
was  she  to  do  if  she  did  not  accept  them  ?  People 
already  considered  her  romantic,  and  even  peculiar. 
Her  mother  until  lately  had  looked  upon  her  as 
somehow  deficient,  and  now  that  she  was  enjoying 
the  triumph  of  success,  was  she  to  renounce  it  all  ? 
Ah,  no !  But  still,  was  this  the  purpose  of  life  ? 
Was  there  no  better  aim  or  ambition  than  this  ? 

With  the  fatality  of  her  situation  staring  her  in 
the  face  like  a  huge  wall  of  granite,  — or,  rather,  like 
a  dense  mist  into  which  her  aspirations  plunged 
and  lost  themselves,  —  Dorothy,  forced  back  to 
earth,  turned  her  reflections  by  degrees  elsewhere. 
Together  with  these  earnest,  serious  questionings, 
she  was  aware  of  a  sense  of  dreamy  pleasure  that 
hovered  about  her,  and  associated  itself  with  this 
new  life.  What  was  it  ?  What  did  it  mean  ? 
Wherefore  did  all  this  admiration  and  attention 
excite  her  so  greatly  ?  It  was  marvellously  agree 
able.  But  what  was  the  sense  of  it  ?  Where  would 
it  end  ?  It  did  excite  her  ;  ah,  yes,  it  did  excite 
her.  And  why  ?  She  closed  her  mental  eyes,  and 
lulled  herself  for  a  moment  in  this  sweet  but  un 
familiar  consciousness.  Then, —  slowly,  and  with 


128  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

the  frightened  sideway  glance  of  the  miser  who 
goes  to  unearth  his  hoarded  treasure,  the  existence 
of  which  he  would,  if  questioned,  indignantly  deny, 
—  she  opens  her  eyes  to  gaze  upon  a  face  that  has 
glided  half  unbidden  into  her  vision.  Turning  her 
head  first,  as  it  were  to  make  sure  that  no  one  is 
looking,  she  darts  a  stealthy,  frightened  glance  at 
her  secret.  Breathless  and  timid,  she  examines  it 
with  furtive  scrutiny,  as  if  she  feared  lest  such  in 
spection  were  not  quite  right,  or  some  hidden  peril 
attended  her  curiosity.  Her  heart  beats  oppres 
sively,  and,  terrified  at  last  by  its  very  fascination, 
she  shuts  her  eyes  again,  to  banish  the  intruder. 
She  has  seen  nothing,  —  oh,  no  !  she  has  seen 
nothing.  Even  to  herself  she  whispers,  "  I  have 
seen  nothing  ; "  and  she  clasps  her  hands  in  the  joy 
of  her  deliverance;  or  is  it  the  unuttered,  unac 
knowledged  consciousness  of  her  discovery  ?  This 
is  certain,  at  any  rate,  that  Mr.  Arthur  Remington's 
visiting-card  —  the  one  that  accompanied  the  bou 
quet  he  sent  Miss  Dorothy  Crosby  for  the  Idle- 
wilds'  ball  —  lies  concealed  in  a  secret  corner  of 
her  writing-desk. 


VII. 

T  ENT  had  come,  and  the  back  of  the  winter 
•P-^  and  the  winter's  gayety  were  broken  together. 
There  was  no  visible  alteration  in  the  external 
aspect  of  the  great  city ;  but  in  certain  hearts  were 
to  be  found  signs  of  a  profound  veneration  for  the 
season,  evidenced  by  a  careful  discrimination  be 
tween  dining  out  and  going  to  the  german,  —  or, 
indeed,  dining  out  where  the  number  of  the  guests 
was  six  and  where  it  was  twelve.  "  I  draw  the  line 
on  talking-parties,"  said  Miss  Lawton.  "  I  go  to 
them,  Mr.  Remington,  and  don't  see  any  harm. 
Do  you  ? "  Now,  on  the  principle  of  the  young 
lady  who  gave  up  butter  during  the  holy  period, 
because  sacrifice  did  not  count  unless  you  renounce 
something  you  really  liked,  Miss  Lawton  was  way 
off,  as  the  saying  is  ;  for  talking-parties  were  de 
cidedly  her  element,  and  especially  as  Mrs.  Field 
ing  set  a  very  high  standard  in  this  respect.  The 
latter  lady  did  not  go  out  anywhere.  She  put  her 
foot  down  so  firmly  as  even  to  feel  obliged  to  give 
up  dining  with  her  own  sister.  The  only  diversion 
she  permitted  herself  was  the  five-o'clock  tea  she 
had  spread  for  such  of  her  friends  as  were  inclined 
to  drop  in. 

9 


I3O  AN  AVERAGE  MAN, 

This  lull  in  general  gayety  was  theoretically 
much  of  a  boon  to  Remington  and  Stoughton,  who 
were  both  beginning  to  wince  somewhat  under  the 
strain  of  such  a  busy  existence.  Now  they  would 
have  plenty  of  time  to  read  in  the  evenings  ;  and 
visions  of  a  comfortable  easy-chair  close  to  the 
blazing  hearth  arose  before  them.  They  were  each 
a  little  inclined  to  moralize  on  the  waste  of  time 
that  parties  really  were,  and  to  vow  they  would  cut 
all  that  sort  of  thing  another  winter.  Dinners 
were,  after  all,  the  most  satisfactory  form  of  enter 
tainments.  One  could  talk  to  the  right  person 
without  interruption.  Of  course  the  right  person 
was  here  a  decidedly  necessary  premise  to  enjoy 
ment  ;  but  then  a  discerning  hostess  was  apt  to 
arrange  her  guests  with  a  deference  to  social  whis 
pers.  They  were  beginning  to  be  rather  frequently 
invited  to  quiet  little  affairs  of  this  sort.  A  winter 
had  tended  to  develop  them  amazingly  in  the  line  of 
conversational  powers  and  ease  of  manner.  Stough- 
ton's  natural  power  of  attraction  was  made  more 
prominent  through  a  greater  fluency  and  a  certain 
audacity  of  speech.  People  described  him  as  a 
handsome  creature.  He  had  gained  some  flesh 
too,  —  just  enough  to  fill  out  without  impairing  his 
figure.  Remington  also  had  made  much  progress 
in  the  way  of  becoming  a  favorite.  He  no  longer 
was  obliged  in  society  to  have  recourse  to  the  act 
ing  of  Neilson,  or  the  status  quo  of  winter  sports, 
to  fill  up  a  hiatus  in  conversation. 

The  hoped-for  repose  of  Lent  was  little  short  of 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  131 

a  delusion,  as  Remington,  at  least,  shortly  found. 
His  cherished  schemes  for  improving  himself,  and 
doing  some  solid  work  in  the  evenings,  proved  ter 
ribly  abortive.  The  time  slipped  away  about  as 
fast  as  ever,  and  he  felt  none  the  less  driven.  Un 
like  Stoughton,  he  did  not  seem  to  flourish  on  the 
racket,  as  he  styled  it,  that  he  had  been  pursuing. 
He  was  conscious  of  a  tired,  strained  sensation. 
It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  could  never  quite  catch 
up  with  himself.  He  looked  thin,  and  as  though 
he  drew  on  his  vitality  unsparingly. 

He  went  to  a  doctor  and  consulted  him  regard 
ing  his  condition.  "  You  are  a  bundle  of  nerves," 
responded  the  leech,  as  a  summary  of  the  situa 
tion  ;  and  he  proceeded  to  deliver  Arthur  a  sensible 
homily  on  the  advantages  of  moderation,  illustrat 
ing  his  theme  by  examples  taken  from  mechanics. 
A  small  engine,  he  said,  could  not  do  the  work  of 
one  that  was  ninety-horse  power.  There  was  noth 
ing  the  matter,  if  Arthur  would  only  take  care  of 
himself.  His  cough  was  simply  symptomatic.  Did 
he  smoke  ?  Cigarettes  ?  Well,  he  had  better  cut 
himself  off  for  a  while.  Medicine  ?  No  ;  there  was 
no  need  of  medicine.  Still,  perhaps  influenced  by 
the  young  man's  glum  look  at  this  announcement, 
he  gave  him  a  tonic,  to  be  imbibed  before  every 
meal,  which  comforted  Arthur's  mind  somewhat. 

"  You  think  too  much.  You  take  life  too  se 
riously,"  said  Stoughton,  who  noticed  his  friend's 
brow.  And  indeed  Remington  did  spend  a  good 
deal  of  time  in  puzzling  over  all  sorts  of  matters 


132  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

connected  with  the  problem  of  living.  First  of  all, 
Miss  Crosby  had  come  to  be  the  central  figure  of 
his  thoughts.  He  was  in  love  with  her,  and  the 
prospect  of  his  being  in  a  position  where  he  would 
be  justified  in  asking  her  to  marry  him  seemed 
very  remote.  As  to  what  her  feelings  toward  him 
might  be  he  was  quite  at  sea.  There  was  no  doubt 
that  Ramsay  Whiting  was  extremely  devoted  to 
her.  He  frequently  found  Stoughton,  too,  beside  the 
little  tea-table  when  he  went  to  call.  Stoughton's 
way  of  saying  things  appeared  to  fascinate  her. 
She  frequently  spoke  of  his  cleverness  to  Reming 
ton.  But  then  Stoughton  was  said  to  be  as  good 
as  engaged  to  Isabel  Idlewild. 

There  had  come  a  lull  in  the  law  business  also. 
Sundry  bills  for  flowers  and  other  little  extrava 
gances  began  to  pour  in  about  this  time,  and  Rem 
ington  found  hard  work  in  meeting  them.  The 
income  from  his  pittance  of  a  property,  even  in 
cluding  a  small  profit  from  his  speculations,  was 
lamentably  small.  What  made  it  more  irksome  to 
have  to  be  so  economical  was  the  success  of  Stough 
ton,  who  even  drove  a  Tilbury  on  the  proceeds  of 
his  winter's  dabbling  in  the  stock  market.  The 
latter  confided  to  Remington  that  he  had  cleared 
twenty  thousand  dollars  which  he  intended  to  salt 
down.  "  If  you  had  only  followed  my  advice,"  he 
said  to  his  friend,  "you  might  have  done  just  as 
well.  I  gave  you  points  enough." 

This  was  perfectly  true  ;  but  the  difficulty  was, 
Remington  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  take  the 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  133 

necessary  risks.  Despite  the  specious  argument 
that  the  money  was  his  own,  he  could  not  help  feel 
ing  it  was  wrong  to  speculate.  To  be  sure,  the 
force  of  that  word  "  wrong  "  was  a  little  hard  to 
determine  nowadays.  Wrong  toward  whom  ?  It 
certainly  did  seem  as  if  only  those  who  were  unlucky 
lost  caste  by  speculation.  All  about  him  were 
instances  of  men  who  had  made  large  fortunes  in 
a  very  short  period. 

There  was  Eugene  Finchley,  for  example.  It  was 
said  that  he  and  his  partners  had  realized  an  enor 
mous  profit  by  floating  the  bonds  of  a  new  West 
ern  railroad.  That  was  not  speculation  exactly. 
It  was  presumably  merely  in  the  line  of  their  regu 
lar  business,  for  they  were  bankers.  But  the  result 
of  the  thing  was  the  same.  It  was  the  making  a 
vast  sum  in  a  comparatively  short  space  of  time 
that  attracted  him.  It  seemed  so  desirable  to  be 
well  off.  He  heard  it  often  said  that  it  was  impos 
sible  to  be  prominent  in  New  York  unless  one  had 
a  million. 

But  though  all  this  made  Remington  despondent 
at  times,  he  stuck  pretty  steadfastly  to  his  prin 
ciples  and  ideals,  at  least  theoretically.  He  knew 
well  enough  that  there  were  better  things  than 
mere  money-getting,  and  when  he  acted  on  a  con 
trary  basis,  he  felt  uncomfortable.  He  was  put 
into  the  world  to  do  useful  work,  and  it  was  not 
very  difficult  to  see  that  in  many  ways  his  life  was 
far  from  what  it  ought  to  be.  However  uncertain 
he  might  be  as  to  precise  articles  of  faith,  he  was 


134  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

sure  that  he  was  responsible  to  some  higher  power 
for  his  actions.  He  wanted  to  contribute  his  share 
to  the  labor  of  the  world. 

And  so,  despite  occasional  spells  of  idleness  and 
discouragement,  he  did  some  hard  work  on  the 
treatise  on  Railroad  Law  during  the  spring  and 
summer.  He  spent  most  of  the  hot  weather  in  the 
city,  running  down  for  an  occasional  Sunday  with 
his  family,  who  were  at  the  sea-side.  He  took  a 
vacation  of  three  weeks  in  August,  which  he  spent 
at  Newport,  for  Miss  Crosby  was  there.  He  found 
as  much  going  on  in  the  way  of  gayety  as  in  winter, 
and  rather  against  his  will  accepted  invitations  for 
dinners  and  dances.  Woodbury  Stoughton  had 
been  there  all  summer,  and  looked  the  picture  of 
handsome  health  in  his  white  flannel  suit.  His 
face  was  tanned  a  becoming  brown.  He  was  one 
of  the  leading  spirits  of  the  place  and  a  crack 
tennis-player.  He  meant  to  go  in  for  polo  another 
year,  so  he  told  Remington,  whom  he  looked  up  at 
the  hotel  soon  after  his  arrival. 

"  You  ought  to  have  let  me  know  you  were 
coming,  and  I  'd  have  engaged  you  a  room  at  my 
house.  I  could  have  got  you  one  three  days  ago, 
but  they're  all  taken  now.  Ramsay  Whiting  and 
I  have  got  first-rate  lodgings  together.  You  ought 
to  have  come  down  before,  my  dear  fellow,  instead 
of  stewing  in  town.  You  look  white  as  a  ghost." 

The  three  weeks  slipped  away  fast  enough,  but 
Remington  did  not  return  to  New  York  in  an 
altogether  equable  frame  of  mind.  He  had  not 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  135 

been  able  to  see  nearly  so  much  of  Miss  Crosby 
as  he  hoped.  She  was  overburdened  with  engage 
ments,  and  with  the  exception  of  a  walk  on  the 
cliffs  one  Sunday  afternoon  his  interviews  with  her 
were  very  fragmentary.  He  met  her  at  a  dance  or 
two,  and  played  tennis  in  the  same  party ;  but  he 
found  himself  put  in  the  background  by  the  other 
young  men,  with  whom  she  seemed  to  have  more 
in  common,  for  he  was  necessarily  ignorant  of  the 
current  jokes  and  chit-chat. 

The  Sunday  walk,  however,  was  very  delightful. 
They  strolled  along  the  path  that  skirts  the  green 
lawns  overlooking  the  sea,  and,  climbing  down,  sat 
upon  the  rocks.  Miss  Crosby  inquired  about  the 
progress  of  his  Treatise,  the  existence  of  which  she 
was  aware  of.  He  philosophized  a  little  ;  they  dis 
cussed  several  books,  and  stayed  gazing  at  the 
sunset  until  it  was  necessary  to  hurry  to  reach 
home  before  dark. 

Miss  Idlewild  was  much  admired  this  summer. 
She  drove  a  pair  of  agile  graceful  ponies,  and  she 
took  Remington  out  in  her  phaeton  one  afternoon 
two  days  after  his  walk  with  Miss  Crosby.  She 
looked  lovely  in  her  dark  blue  close-fitting  suit  with 
a  billycock  hat  and  a  bunch  of  pansies  at  her 
throat.  Remington  felt  quite  proud  to  be  at  the 
side  of  the  young  beauty.  People  still  said  Stough- 
ton  was  going  to  marry  her.  Then,  too,  Finchley 
was  at  the  hotel.  He  had  been  there  three  or  four 
days.  Town  was  hot,  he  said,  and  business  dull. 
Remington  had  sat  up  with  him  smoking  the  night 


136  AN   AVERAGE  MAN. 

before,  talking  about  business.  There  would  be  a 
crash  some  of  these  days,  Finchley  said.  Stocks 
were  selling  for  all  they  were  worth. 

Remington  found  it  rather  difficult  to  converse 
with  Isabel,  if  he  left  the  field  of  badinage.  She 
evidently  enjoyed  compliments  while  protesting 
against  them.  They  got  on  famously  when  they 
talked  sheer  nonsense ;  but  if  he  ventured  to  intro 
duce  more  serious  topics,  she  became  embarrassed 
and  silent.  She  was  an  excellent  whip,  and  took 
a  keen  interest  in  her  ponies,  which  were  a  birth 
day  gift  from  her  father. 

She  had  turned  Dandy's  and  Dewdrop's  heads 
homeward.  The  sun  had  just  set,  and  the  western 
horizon  was  streaked  with  deep  violet  hues,  sug 
gesting  the  near  advent  of  autumn.  Remington 
was  pensive  under  the  influence  of  the  evening 
light,  and  —  a  somewhat  ungracious  proceeding,  it 
must  be  confessed — looking  his  gift  horse  in  the 
face ;  for  he  said  to  himself  that  in  spite  of  all  her 
money,  Miss  Idlewild  would  be  no  wife  for  him. 
He  liked  her  very  much,  but  his  idea  of  marriage 
was  that  a  woman  should  be  a  companion  to  her 
husband.  It  must  be  a  fine  thing,  though,  to  have 
a  million,  he  reflected,  as  a  criticism  on  this  con 
clusion. 

"  Ain't  it  lovely !  "  exclaimed  Isabel.  "  Just  look 
at  that  cloud." 

"  It  looks  like  a  dragon  with  four  heads.  See, 
one  of  them  is  dropping  off  now.  Do  you  remem 
ber  the  verses  of  —  " 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  137 

He  stopped  short  for  an  instant  and  made  a 
little  swallow.  Miss  Idlewild  laughed.  She  turned 
toward  him, — 

"  Are  you  stopping  because  you  forgot  yourself 
and  thought  you  were  talking  to  some  one  else  ? 
Please  continue,  and  imagine  I  am  literary.  I  really 
think  I  should  like  poetry  if  some  one  would  edu 
cate  me.  Go  on,  Dewdrop  ;  "  and  she  gave  a  little 
touch  of  the  lash  to  the  off  pony. 

Remington  laughed  nervously.  "I  forgot  the 
lines.  I  thought  I  saw  a  ghost  in  the  hedgerow, 
and  it  frightened  me  so  they  have  slipped  my 
memory." 

There  was  more  truth  than  fiction  in  this  speech  ; 
for  as  the  phaeton  passed  one  of  the  side  streets 
that  intersect  Bellevue  Avenue,  his  eye  had  recog 
nized  Dorothy  Crosby  and  Woodbury  Stoughton 
sauntering  together.  The  twilight  had  thrown 
them  into  perfect  relief. 

"  A  ghost  ?  what  fun  ! "  cried  Isabel,  all  uncon 
scious  of  his  meaning. 

"  Yes  ;  a  ghost  that  boded  no  good  either  to  you 
or  to  me." 

The  girl  laughed  and  looked  again  at  her  com 
panion.  "  How  queer  you  are  to-night !  Your  tone 
then  was  positively  sepulchral.  What  did  it  look 
like?" 

"Miss  Idlewild,  let  us  elope,"  he  said,  with  a  sud 
den  burst  of  sprightliness,  as  of  one  who  sweeps 
away  the  fumes  before  his  eyes. 

"  Certainly.      Let  it  be  this  very  evening." 


138  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

They  both  laughed  gleefully,  and  an  instant  later 
the  noise  of  the  wheels  upon  the  gravel  path  told 
them  that  their  drive  was  at  an  end. 

Remington  returned  to  the  hotel  in  a  state  of 
excitement  which  he  was  conscious  would  soon  set 
tle  into  gloom.  On  the  veranda  he  encountered 
Finchley,  who  carried  an  overcoat  across  his  arm. 

"  What !  Are  you  going  back  to-night  ?  Hold 
on  until  to-morrow  and  I  '11  go  with  you." 

"  I  can't.  There  's  been  a  bad  break  in  the  mar 
ket.  It  has  come  even  sooner  than  I  expected. 
Scioto  Valley  has  dropped  ten  points  since  yester 
day." 

"  Pheugh ! " 

At  the  moment  Stoughton  came  up,  swinging  his 
cane.  He  appeared  very  good-humored,  and  re 
marked  that  the  pair  looked  grave  as  owls.  "  What 's 
the  good  word  ? "  he  said. 

"  Look  here,  Stoughton."  Finchley  put  his  hand 
through  the  other's  arm  and  walked  him  aside. 

"  The  devil !  "  Remington  heard  his  friend  ejac 
ulate. 

"  You  know  I  told  you  not  to  buy  at  those 
prices,"  said  the  broker  ;  and  he  waved  his  hand  at 
the  driver  of  the  omnibus.  "  I  'm  off." 

Stoughton  stood  whipping  his  cane  against  the 
leg  of  his  trousers.  "  This  is  a  nice  thing  to  have 
happen  at  the  height  of  the  season." 

"  Are  you  stuck  badly  ? "  asked  Remington. 

"  It  is  n't  as  deep  as  a  well  nor  as  wide  as  a 
church  door,  but  it's  enough,"  he  growled.  "I 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  139 

was  a  fool,  as  Finchley  says.  It 's  only  two  thou 
sand,"  he  added  presently.  "  I  bought  a  couple  of 
hundred  Scioto  Valley  for  a  turn  last  week,  and  it 
has  gone  the  wrong  way." 

"  Tough  luck."  Remington  did  not  feel  quite 
so  sympathetic  as  if  the  afternoon's  episode  had 
not  been  in  his  mind.  Besides,  he  had  a  little 
Scioto  Valley  himself.  Everything  seemed  to  be 
going  wrong. 

They  both  returned  to  New  York  on  the  following 
day.  The  break  in  the  market  was  only  temporary. 
Even  Scioto  Valley  recovered  a  large  portion  of 
its  decline.  But  Remington  sold  his  out  at  nearly 
the  lowest  point  it  touched.  He  was  afraid  to 
hold  any  longer,  for  it  might  go  all  to  pieces,  his 
broker  said.  He  did  not  like  to  run  the  risk  of 
falling  into  debt.  This  loss  made  a  sad  hole  in  his 
capital.  Two  thousand  dollars  was  all  he  had  left. 
He  made  the  resolution,  however,  that  he  would 
never  buy  stocks  on  a  margin  again.  He  would 
trust  to  his  profession  for  his  income  in  future. 

"  I  pulled  through  that  racket  pretty  well,"  said 
Stoughton,  a  month  later.  "  I  sold  my  Scioto  Valley 
to-day,  and  my  whole  loss  is  only  four  hundred,  in 
cluding  interest.  I  'm  going  to  the  caucus  to-night. 
Come  ahead.  There 's  likely  to  be  some  sport." 

"  I  was  intending  to  go,"  answered  Remington. 
"  Ramsay  Whiting  was  in  my  office  this  morning. 
He  said  the  Independents  were  going  to  make 
every  effort  to  prevent  the  election  of  Collamore 
delegates." 


140  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

"  H'm  !  They  '11  find  it  no  easy  matter.  Corny 
French  is  a  pretty  hard  customer  to  deal  with. 
The  trouble  with  Ramsay  Whiting  is  that  he 's  so 
impractical.  There 's  no  use  in  going  into  politics 
with  kid  gloves  on,  I  Ve  made  up  my  mind.  You  've 
got  to  fight  the  beggars  with  their  own  weapons." 

Woodbury  Stoughton  had  flattered  himself  that 
in  going  into  politics  his  motives  were  disinter 
ested  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  believed  any  ambition  he 
might  feel  for  personal  distinction  to  be  quite  sub 
sidiary  to  his  desire  to  promote  the  cause  of  reform 
in  public  life.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  interven 
tion  of  the  better  classes  was  necessary  to  repress 
the  corruption  and  debasement  of  tone  which 
threatened  to  honeycomb  our  system  of  govern 
ment.  He  was  going  to  devote  his  energies  to 
advocating  pure  methods  and  blocking  the  wheels 
of  machine  rule.  For  the  pursuance  of  this  object 
he  was  desirous  to  hold  office,  but  he  would  never 
make  use  of  any  but  the  most  unexceptionable 
and  straightforward  measures  to  advance  his  own 
interests. 

It  was  in  this  spirit  he  had  originally  attended 
the  primaries  in  his  ward.  The  germ  of  the  evil 
was  said  to  lie  here.  Let  good  citizens  take  pains 
to  be  present  at  these  meetings,  and  the  monster 
could  be  strangled  in  the  cradle. 

His  hopes  had  been,  however,  a  little  dashed, 
and  his  vanity  somewhat  wounded,  by  his  first 
experiences.  The  sense  of  helplessness  a  novice 
realizes  at  an  ordinary  wardroom  gathering  is 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  14! 

almost  pathetic.  The  clockwork  regularity  with 
which  everything  is  done  suggests  the  neat,  exqui 
site  movement  of  a  machine,  which  receives  at  one 
end  a  commodity  in  the  staple  and  reproduces  it 
at  the  other  in  the  textile.  His  presence  seemed 
absolutely  futile.  He  might  just  as  well  have 
stayed  at  home.  A  small  clique  of  men,  whose 
names  were  completely  unfamiliar  to  him,  appeared 
to  run  everything  to  suit  themselves  ;  while  the 
mass  of  the  constituents,  as  they  were  styled  from 
the  platform,  lounged  and  smoked  in  gaping  indif 
ference.  Occasionally  some  disappointed  aspirant, 
whose  name  had  been  omitted  from  the  printed 
ticket  supplied  by  the  committee,  would  denounce 
the  cut-and-dried  condition  of  affairs,  only  to  be 
rolled  and  trampled  in  the  dust  by  a  wheel  as  in 
exorable  as  Tarquinia's.  Every  few  years  the 
so-called  respectable  element  of  the  district  — 
roused  by  a  scandal  of  more  than  ordinary  pro 
portions,  or  whipped  into  line  through  the  per 
sistency  of  some  would-be  candidate  for  preferment 
—  turned  out  in  force  and  filled  the  wardroom  to 
overflowing.  Then  there  were  speeches  made  and 
resolutions  passed,  and  read  by  a  chairman  of 
blameless  character,  calling  for  the  systematic  co 
operation  of  the  voters  against  the  wire-pulling 
of  the  politicians  ;  while  the  gentry  in  question, 
already  foreseeing  the  calm  certain  to  follow  this 
outburst  of  enthusiasm,  suffered  the  movement  to 
have  its  head,  and  even  added  their  own  testimony 
to  the  worthiness  of  the  cause. 


142  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

As  is  commonly  the  case,  the  ingredients  that 
went  to  make  up  the  constituency  to  which  Stough- 
ton  belonged  were  various.  In  the  first  place,  there 
were  the  well-to-do  and  educated,  who  were  many 
of  them  vastly  indifferent  to  their  rights  of  suffrage. 
At  the  other  antipodes  were  the  poor  and  ignorant 
folk,  who  possessed  little  else  but  their  votes  upon 
which  to  raise  money.  Between  them  lay  that 
great  middle-class,  to  whom  orators  delight  to 
appeal  as  the  bone  and  sinew  of  the  American 
people,  —  the  class  whose  standards  must,  under 
republican  institutions,  determine  largely  the  stand 
ards  of  the  nation.  This  last  element  held  the 
balance  of  political  power,  and  while  deprecating 
anything  that  could  be  construed  into  out-and-out 
dishonesty,  was  disposed  to  pardon  much  to  a 
smart  man.  In  other  words,  they  were  not  thin- 
skinned.  When  matters  became  notorious  —  which 
was  another  way  of  saying  "  when  they  began  to 
lose  money"  —  they  arose  in  their  might  and  made 
a  clean  sweep  of  the  slate ;  but  for  the  most  part 
they  took  things  easily,  and  believed  in  supporting 
at  the  polls  men  who  would  never  feel  ashamed  of 
them.  Finally,  there  were  the  politicians  pure  and 
simple  ;  which,  if  we  take  the  words  in  the  ordinary 
sense,  was  about  the  last  term  that  could  properly 
be  applied  to  them. 

"  We  shall  never  get  pure  government  in  this 
country,"  Ramsay  Whiting  observed  to  Stoughton 
at  one  of  their  civil-service  gatherings,  "  until  the 
moral  tone  of  the  average  voter  is  raised.  When 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  143 

the  masses  begin  to  understand  why  it  is  not 
respectable  for  an  office-holder  to  use  his  place  to 
supply  his  friends  with  comfortable  berths,  we  shall 
see  an  improvement.  As  it  is,  they  no  more  look 
for  squeamishness  in  such  matters  than  they  expect 
to  get  full  weight  at  a  country  grocery.  In  regard 
to  cracking  a  bank  or  embezzling  trust-funds  the 
popular  sentiment  is  generally  sound ;  but  short  of 
these  they  are  not  inclined  to  judge  a  ready  speaker 
too  harshly."  The  only  thing  to  be  done,  he  went 
on  to  say,  was  one's  self  to  fight  the  evil,  and  trust 
to  time  to  leaven  the  lump.  Every  little  helped. 

By  degrees  Stoughton  had  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  leading  politicians  in  his  ward  ;  and  it  had 
surprised  him  to  find  what  a  decent  lot  they  were, 
compared  to  his  expectations.  To  be  sure,  his  pre 
conceived  ideas  on  the  subject  had  pictured  the 
genus  in  question  as  a  kind  of  human  vulture, — 
a  groggy,  seedy  individual  who,  when  he  was  not 
plundering  the  public  till,  haunted  pothouses  and 
kindred  resorts.  However  apt  this  diagnosis  may 
have  been  regarding  the  lower  strata  of  the  pro 
fession,  it  certainly  did  great  injustice  both  to  the 
Honorable  Cornelius  French  and  Mr.  Alderman 
Dunn. 

To-night  was  to  be  one  of  the  most  important 
primaries  of  the  year.  A  Republican  candidate  for 
the  Assembly  were  to  be  nominated,  although 
nomination  in  this  district  was  not  always  equiva 
lent  to  an  election.  Delegates  were  to  be  selected 
also  for  the  convention  shortly  to  meet  to  choose 


144  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

a  United  States  Representative.  The  Honorable 
Hugh  Collamore,  who  had  already  served  two 
terms  in  the  State  Senate,  was  anxious  for  the 
office,  and  his  nomination  would  have  been  re 
garded  as  a  certainty  had  it  not  been  for  the  oppo 
sition  of  the  civil-service  wing  of  the  party.  This 
reform  element  had  endeavored,  though  unsuccess 
fully,  to  defeat  Collamore  at  the  polls  last  year ;  but 
the  attempt  had  rendered  the  contest  so  close  that 
the  managers  were  putting  their  heads  together  to 
try  and  patch  up  matters.  If  the  Reformers  were 
to  go  over  to  the  Democrats,  it  would  be  a  serious 
affair.  They  must  be  humored  in  some  way,  or, 
better  still,  set  at  variance  among  themselves. 

Ramsay  Whiting  was  one  of  the  leading  mem 
bers  of  the  Civil  Service  Reform  Club.  His  labors 
in  this  direction  rivalled  even  his  devotion  to  his 
farm.  He  was  the  ruling  spirit  of  the  organization 
in  his  own  district.  Remington  and  Stoughton  had 
signed  the  constitution,  and  enrolled  themselves  as 
aiders  in  the  good  cause,  almost  immediately  after 
coming  to  New  York.  Stoughton  had  been,  the 
previous  autumn,  among  the  bitterest  opponents  of 
Collamore's  nomination.  But  when  it  had  come  to 
election  day,  and  it  was  evident  that  there  was  no 
chance  for  Mr.  William  Webster,  the  Reform  can 
didate,  Stoughton  showed  his  common  sense,  as  he 
said,  and  worked  for  Collamore  against  the  regular 
Democrat,  who  was  likewise  an  arrant  politician. 

"  It 's  a  choice  of  evils  ;  but  Collamore 's  the 
better  man,"  was  his  remark  to  those  who  inquired 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  145 

as  to  the  merits  of  the  candidates.  "There's  no 
use  in  voting  for  Webster  ;  he 's  got  no  chance,  and 
it  will  be  merely  a  waste  of  your  ballot." 

Whiting  had  endeavored  to  remonstrate  with 
Stoughton.  The  Independent  candidate  was  an 
unexceptionable  nomination,  he  said,  and  respect 
able  people,  by  scratching  Mr.  Collamore's  name, 
could  teach  the  party  a  valuable  lesson.  Next 
year  they  would  not  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  put  up 
a  second-rate  man. 

"  But  don't  you  see,  my  dear  fellow,  it  won't  do 
any  good  to  vote  for  Webster  ? "  protested  Stough 
ton,  with  some  irritation.  "You  can't  possibly  elect 
him,  and  the  result  will  be  merely  that  that  beggar 
Holmes  will  get  in.  He  's  worse  than  six  Colla- 
mores,  and  is  a  Democrat  to  boot.  You  're  cut 
ting  the  throat  of  your  own  party." 

"  Exactly,  if  you  choose  to  put  it  that  way.  I 
don't  consider  myself  bound  by  any  party  ties  to 
vote  for  an  inferior  candidate ; "  and  Whiting 
turned  on  his  heel. 

Collamore,  meeting  Stoughton  in  the  street  a 
few  days  later,  had  greeted  him  cordially.  Without 
thanking  the  young  man  in  express  terms,  he  de 
clared  himself  greatly  indebted  for  the  efforts  of 
the  friends  to  whom  he  owed  his  election.  Stough 
ton  felt  considerably  flattered,  and  went  on  to  say 
how  glad  he  was  that  the  Democratic  candidate 
had  been  beaten.  "  Well,  sir,"  answered  the  poli 
tician,  with  an  air  of  disgust  that  was  not  without 
pity,  "  it 's  not  becoming  perhaps  in  me  to  say  it, 

10 


146  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

but  he's  a  poor  lot.  I  would  sooner  cut  off  this 
right  hand"  —  and  here  he  shook  his  fat  fingers 
within  an  inch  of  the  other's  nose  in  his  virtuous 
indignation  — "  than  resort  to  the  tricks  which 
that  Holmes  practised  to  try  to  get  an  election. 
Why,  sir,  the  fellow's  hirelings  violate  the  sanctity 
of  the  home  in  their  attempts  to  buy  votes.  It  was 
disgusting,  simply  disgusting ! "  and  the  speaker 
looked  as  if  the  purchase  of  a  freeman's  suffrage  was 
something  against  which  his  very  nature  rebelled. 

"  And  who  is  talked  of  for  the  Assembly  next 
fall  ?  "  inquired  Stoughton,  presently. 

Mr.  Collamore  was  not  sure  that  any  names  had 
been  prominently  mentioned  in  that  connection. 
Young  Finchley  was  a  rising  man,  and  was  likely 
to  be  returned  from  one  of  the  city  districts. 
"Would  n't  you  like  to  go  yourself,  Mr.  Stoughton  ?  " 

Stoughton  was  not  sure  that  he  would  not.  "  If 
the  party  would  like  to  have  me  serve,  I  shall  be 
very  glad  of  the  nomination,"  he  continued. 

"Well,  we'll  see,  —  we'll  see  if  it  can't  be  man 
aged,"  said  the  politician,  thoughtfully. 

The  latter  had  referred  to  the  subject  on  several 
occasions  since,  and  Stoughton  had  come  to  regard 
himself  in  the  light  of  a  possible  candidate.  He  had 
already  made  sure  of  the  support  of  the  Reformers. 
At  a  meeting  of  the  executive  committee  of  the 
club  held  a  week  ago  it  had  been  agreed  to  run  him 
for  Assemblyman,  and  Talboys  Dewitt,  an  intelli 
gent  young  banker,  for  Congress,  on  one  ticket,  and 
to  oppose  the  Collamore  candidacy. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  147 

Two  days  before  the  present  caucus  secret  over 
tures  had  been  made  to  Stoughton  to  the  effect 
that  a  compromise  was  desirable.  The  political 
element  would  assure  Stoughton  the  nomination 
for  the  Assembly  if  his  friends  would  support 
Finchley  for  the  other  vacancy  and  vote  for  Colla- 
more  delegates.  There  was  no  chance  for  both 
the  Civil  Service  men,  and  by  a  refusal  to  settle 
matters  amicably  the  chances  were  much  in  favor 
of  neither  of  them  getting  tire  nomination.  This 
argument  of  the  envoy  sent  on  behalf  of  the  other 
side  was  represented  as  worthy  of  consideration  by 
Stoughton  to  Ramsay  Whiting,  to  whom,  without 
revealing  that  he  had  been  approached,  he  sug 
gested  the  possible  advantage  of  some  such  move. 
But  the  young  Reformer  was  steadfast  in  his  deter 
mination  to  avoid  bargaining  with  the  enemy.  If 
the  consequence  was  defeat,  at  least  they  could  say 
they  had  been  faithful  to  their  principles.  Stough 
ton  had  shaken  his  head  incredulously.  His  reply 
to  the  messenger  of  the  other  faction  was  that 
perhaps  something  might  be  done  on  the  night 
itself. 

Remington  and  Stoughton  entered  the  ward 
room  together,  which  was  crowded  with  men 
standing  in  little  knots,  smoking.  There  were  a 
number  at  the  door  armed  with  printed  tickets 
which  bore  various  headings,  such  as  "Regular 
Republican  Nominations,"  "  Straight  Republican 
Ticket,"  and  the  like. 

"  Holloa  ! "   said  Remington,  glancing  over  one 


148  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

of  the  ballots,  "they 've  got  your  delegates  on  the 
Collamore  ticket,  Wood." 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  replied  Stoughton. 

They  walked  forward  to  the  middle  of  the  room. 
"  Ah  !  Mr.  Stoughton,  how  d*  y'  do  ? "  said  one  of 
the  ward  politicians,  a  tall  individual  with  a 
sonorous  voice,  the  distinguishing  points  of  whose 
dress  were  a  long  black  frock-coat  and  a  black 
whisp  tie.  "  Mr.  French,"  he  continued,  turning 
to  a  portly  man  with  a  round,  red,  sphinx-like  face, 
and  glittering  pig's  eyes  sunk  in  a  wealth  of  fat, 
"I  want  to  introduce  to  you  a  young  friend  of 
mine,  one  of  the  new  men  of  the  party.  Mr. 
Stoughton  —  Honorable  Cornelius  French." 

"  I  am  happy  to  meet  you,  sir,"  said  the  great 
man,  taking  the  neophyte's  hand  in  his,  while  he 
scrutinized  his  face  with  a  keen  glance ;  "  I 
thought  I  was  acquainted  with  all  the  rising 
political  talent." 

"  I  belong  to  the  youngsters,"  said  Stoughton, 
with  a  laugh. 

"  So  do  I,  sir,  so  do  I,"  protested  Mr.  French, 
with  a  mock  gesture  of  deprecation  ;  "  I  am  not  to 
be  classed  with  the  antiquities  yet." 

"  Mr.  Stoughton  is  the  young  man  of  whom  I  was 
speaking  to  you  the  other  day,"  the  henchman 
went  on  to  observe.  "As  I  was  just  saying  to 
these  gentlemen,"  and  he  turned  towards  the 
group,  "  we  are  determined  to  send  clean  men  to 
the  Assembly  next  time." 

"  Quite  right,    sir,   quite    right.      The    country 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  149 

demands  that  the  public  servants  should  be  worthy 
of  their  trust."  Mr.  French  gravely  passed  a  blue 
silk  handkerchief  over  his  smooth  chin. 

Corny  French,  as  he  was  styled  in  political 
circles,  was  a  remarkable  character.  He  was  pri 
marily  a  self-made  man  ;  which,  in  his  case,  was 
largely  associated  with  the  fact  that  he  had  always 
looked  out  for  himself  before  everything  and  every 
body  else,  —  even  including  the  grand  old  party  to 
which  he  belonged,  and  of  which  he  was  one  of  the 
mainstays.  He  was  one  of  the  powers  behind  the 
political  throne,  one  of  those  personages  who,  like 
the  manipulator  of  a  puppet-show,  handle  the  wires 
invisible  to  the  ordinary  eye.  Originally  a  jour 
nalist,  he  had  obtained,  as  the  reward  of  a  spicy 
advocacy  of  a  successful  candidate,  office  under  the 
New  York  City  government.  Thence  he  had  eaten 
his  way  deep  into  the  municipality.  Few  in 
public  life  had  been  brought  so  intimately  into 
contact  —  or  rather  into  contract — with  the  civic 
needs,  in  the  line  of  lamps,  sewers,  and  pavements, 
as  himself.  He  was  an  alderman  for  a  number 
of  years,  and  later  figured  as  a  legislator  in  both 
branches  at  Albany.  He  could  have  been  sent  to 
Congress  at  any  time,  had  he  so  desired  ;  but  it 
suited  his  ambition  better  to  say  who  should  not 
go,  than  to  go  himself.  Political  manipulation  was 
the  dearest  interest  of  his  life.  There  was  to-day 
no  cleverer  party  manager  in  the  country  than 
the  Honorable  Cornelius  French.  He  had  grown 
literally  gray  in  the  service  ;  and  there  was  many 


150  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

a  politician  who  was  indebted,  for  his  subsequent 
notoriety,  to  the  favor  shown  him  at  the  start  by 
this  modern  Warwick.  From  the  enormous  cir 
culation  of  his  newspaper  he  had  realized  a  hand 
some  fortune,  and  he  lived  in  luxury.  His  private 
tastes  and  accomplishments  indicated  a  mind  of  no 
mean  order.  He  was  an  omnivorous  consumer  of 
books,  and  could  read  with  pleasure,  it  was  stated, 
six  different  languages.  His  library  was  among  the 
choicest  in  the  city.  He  was  said  to  be  an  intimate 
student  of  the  English  poets.  He  had  never  been 
accused  of  personal  pilfering  of  the  public  money. 

Just  then  Ramsay  Whiting  came  up  and  drew 
Remington  aside.  "  See  here,  what  does  Stough- 
ton  mean  by  letting  his  name  appear  on  the 
opposition  ticket  ?  It  was  agreed  that  he  and 
Dewitt  should  run  together." 

"  So  I  thought.     You  'd  better  ask  him." 

But  Stoughton  had  slipped  away,  and  presently 
there  went  a  whisper  round  the  room  to  vote  the 
split  ticket.  Despite  the  efforts  of  Whiting,  who 
buttonholed  Reform  men  and  urged  the  importance 
of  avoiding  compromise,  the  general  sentiment 
seemed  to  be  confused.  Somebody  had  started 
the  watchword  that  by  meeting  the  politicians 
half-way  more  would  be  gained  for  the  cause  than 
by  suffering  total  defeat. 

"  I  say,  Stoughton,  you  ought  to  get  up  and 
decline  to  run  except  on  the  same  ticket  with 
Dewitt,"  said  Remington,  seeking  out  his  friend. 

"  It  is  n't  my  fault  that  they  've  put  my  delegates 


AN   AVERAGE  MAN.  15  I 

on  their  ticket.  If  I  should  do  that,  neither  Dewitt 
nor  I  would  have  a  ghost  of  a  chance." 

"  Well,  I  shall  have  to  vote  against  you  then." 

"  All  right     Just  as  you  please." 

The  politician  in  the  frock-coat,  who  was  the 
Honorable  Hugh  Collamore's  chief  fugleman,  was 
standing  near  by  with  Finchley.  "  It  will  be  a 
walk-over.  They  Ve  swallowed  that  bait  pretty 
solid." 

"Yes,  and  don't  let  on,"  Finchley  whispered 
behind  his  hand,  "  but  I  Ve  got  the  whole  kit  of 
their  ballots,  except  about  twenty,  wrapped  up  in 
my  ulster.  One  of  the  daisies  put  them  behind  the 
bench  for  safe  keeping,  and  I  cabbaged  them." 

It  was  plain  sailing  after  this.  In  the  midst  of 
the  noise  and  chatter  one  of  the  ward  committee 
knocked  the  meeting  to  order  and  called  for  nomi 
nations  for  a  chairman.  A  big  fellow,  with  a  voice 
like  a  Bashan  bull,  got  up,  and  after  looking  around 
him,  as  much  as  to  say  that  he  would  wipe  up  the 
floor  with  any  one  who  should  gainsay  him,  pro 
ceeded  to  make  a  motion  that  Mr.  Alderman  Dunn 
act  as  the  chairman  of  this  meeting.  Remington, 
who  was  in  a  state  of  much  excitement,  started  to 
his  feet  and  nominated  Honorable  William  Webster. 
The  meeting  was  desired  to  express  its-  choice  by 
a  show  of  hands.  The  vote  stood:  Dunn,  97; 
Webster,  85.  Stoughton,  who  had  voted  for  Web 
ster,  arose  and  urged  that  Mr.  Dunn's  nomination 
be  made  unanimous. 

Mr.  Dunn,  while   in  a  sitting   posture,  had  the 


152  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

effect  of  being  without  a  neck.  His  square,  heavy- 
jawed  countenance,  smooth-shaven  and  furrowed 
with  seams,  appeared  to  rest  directly  upon  his 
broad  shoulders  after  the  manner  of  a  snow-image 
fashioned  by  boys.  He  had  an  expansive  smile, 
and  a  confidential,  caressing  manner,  which  was 
intended  to  be  very  ingenuous,  —  as  if  to  imply  that 
whatever  secrets  one  might  intrust  to  him  would 
go  no  further.  His  person  was  ordinarily  redolent 
of  jockey-club,  —  a  peculiarity  which  was  easily 
accounted  for,  however.  Mr.  Dunn  was  in  every 
day  life  a  dealer  in  horses,  and,  it  having  been 
intimated  to  him  that  the  flavor  of  the  stables  was 
disagreeable  to  his  associates,  he  had  endeavored 
to  obviate  the  difficulty  by  the  use  of  scent.  The 
choice  of  jockey-club  was  only  an  accident  ;  so  he 
explained  to  Stoughton,  who  came  upon  him  one 
day  in  the  municipal  dressing-room,  sprinkling 
himself  from  a  small  bottle ;  it  might  just  as  well 
have  been  patchouly,  or  any  other  perfume.  He 
had  not  intended  to  pun  upon  his  occupation.  And 
then  he  had  laughed  hoarsely,  and  rubbed  the 
young  man  with  his  elbow,  which  was  his  way  of 
suggesting  that  he  had  said  a  good  thing.  He 
was  an  alderman  at  present,  and  reputed  to  be  one 
of  the  shrewdest  workers  in  the  party. 

He  now  ascended  the  rostrum,  and  two  secreta 
ries,  one  from  each  faction,  having  been  chosen,  he 
declared  the  meeting  organized  for  business.  There 
was  some  little  confusion  among  the  Reformers, 
owing  to  the  mislaying  of  their  ballots.  Some 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  153 

one  called  for  a  committee  to  nominate  delegates, 
and  an  attempt  was  made  to  have  distinct  ballots 
for  delegates  to  the  Congressional  and  Assemblymen 
Conventions  ;  but,  both  these  motions  having  been 
defeated,  a  vote  was  taken.  The  result  was  an 
nounced  by  the  chairman. 

He  declared  elected  the  list  of  Collamore  dele 
gates,  who  had  received  121  votes  to  61  for  their 
opponents,  and  likewise  the  delegates  in  favor  of 
Woodbury  Stoughton  for  Assemblyman,  whose 
majority  was  even  larger,  owing  to  his  support  from 
both  factions.  Upon  the  announcement  of  the  re 
sult  a  loud  shout  went  up,  coupled  with  cries  for  a 
speech  from  the  would-be  Congressman,  who  at  last 
suffered  himself  to  be  escorted  to  the  platform. 
He  was  a  ponderous-looking  man,  with  coarse  red 
dish  hair  and  beard,  and  a  hawk's  eye  and  nose. 
He  was  arrayed  in  black  broadcloth.  From  his 
showy  watch-chain  hung  a 'Masonic  emblem,  and  a 
large  diamond  pin  spluttered  in  his  shirt-bosom. 

After  a  short  preface  of  thanks  for  "  the  honor 
conferred,"  he  proceeded  to  take  the  bull  by  the 
horns  in  saying  that  he  had  reason  to  believe  that 
there  were  some  who  had  come  to  the  meeting  for 
the  purpose  of  sowing  dissension  in  the  ranks  of 
the  Republican  party.  He  looked  around  the 
room,  as  he  spoke,  with  an  air  of  righteous  indig 
nation,  amid  cries  of  "  That 's  so,"  "  Give  it  to  'em, 
Hugh,"  "  We  '11  teach  'em  what  reform  means  !  " 
The  air  was  blue  with  tobacco  smoke,  and  the  worst 
element  evidently  felt  the  inspiration  of  success. 


154  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

"  Gentlemen,"  the  speaker  continued,  stimulated 
by  the  last  interjection,  "  I  have  heard  the  word 
reform  fall  from  the  lips  of  some  one  in  this 
assembly.  Reform  !  Thank  God,  gentlemen,"  — 
and  here  he  banged  with  his  fist  upon  the  desk,  — 
"  thank  God  I  can  stand  up  proudly  in  this  place 
and  say  that  if  there  is  one  thing  I  believe  in  and 
have  striven  for  during  the  whole  course  of  my 
political  career,  it  is  reform.  Reform,  gentlemen, 
reform,  —  the  sacred  beacon  and  watchword  of  our 
party,  the  golden  hope  of  the  political  future 
and  of  the  present,  —  ay,  gentlemen,  of  the 
present,  —  " 

"  How  about  that  Spuyten  Duyvil  Bridge  job  ?  " 
piped  a  voice  at  the  back  of  the  room. 

The  eyes  of  everybody  were  turned  in  the  direc 
tion  from  which  it  had  emanated,  and  seemed  to 
centre  on  Ramsay  Whiting,  who  was  standing  near 
the  door  with  folded  arms  and  a  disdainful  smile  on 
his  face.  His  ulster  was  drawn  up  about  his  ears, 
and  he  had  been  apparently  on  the  point  of  taking 
his  departure.  There  were  loud  cries  of  "Who 
was  it  spoke  ? "  "  Put  him  out !  "  and  the  like.  The 
remark  had  not  come  from  Whiting,  but  the  crowd 
chose  to  consider  him  responsible  for  it ;  or  at  least 
the  Honorable  Hugh  did,  for,  as  he  resumed  his 
harangue,  his  finger  was  pointed  unmistakably  in 
his  direction.  "  Some  gentleman  has  made  a  re 
mark,"  said  he,  and,  as  he  paused  dramatically,  the 
whole  company  turned  toward  the  young  man. 
"  Some  gentleman  has  taken  it  upon  himself  to 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  155 

make  a  remark  which  reflects  upon  my  conduct  as 
a  public  servant,  and  which  calls  in  question  my 
fidelity  to  the  trusts  that  this  constitooency  has 
placed  in  my  hands.  I  might,  upon  such  an  occa 
sion  as  this,  fitly  decline  to  notice  language  so  un 
parliamentary,  but  it  has  been  my  boast,  gentlemen 
of  the  Republican  party,  since  first  I  assumed  the 
sacred  garb  of  office,  that  I  have  been  ever  ready 
to  submit  my  behavior  to  the  light  of  scrutiny,  — 
ay,  gentlemen,  to  the  scorching  blaze  of  noon. 
The  allusion  that  the  honorable  gentleman  has  seen 
fit  to  make  is  Cimbrian  in  its  darkness,  gentlemen, 
Cimbrian  —  " 

The  orator  paused  to  give  due  effect  to  what  he 
considered,  doubtless,  an  apt  and  correct  classical 
allusion. 

"  Let  him  stand  forth  and  proclaim  himself !  " 

There  were  loud  cries  of  "  He  dar's  n't ! "  "  What 's 
his  name  ?  "  and  the  like. 

-  "  Let  him  no  longer  seek  a  cowardly  shelter  be 
hind  the  rampart  of  the  anonymous.  I  care  not 
who  he  is,  whether  he  be  a  lowly  son  of  toil  or  one 
who  haunts  the  gilded  halls  of  aristocracy,"  —  and 
here  he  stopped  and  shook  his  fat  finger  mena 
cingly  at  Whiting,  —  "I  proclaim  him  from  this 
platform  a  base  and  perjured  liar." 

Whiting  made  no  reply.  He  simply  looked 
amused  ;  and  the  Honorable  Hugh,  having,  so  to 
speak,  placed  himself  on  record,  was  evidently  satis 
fied  ;  for  after  looking  around  for  a  moment,  as  if 
in  search  of  some  one  to  take  up  his  gage,  he  went 


156  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

on  to  say  in  a  pathetic  tone :  "  Perhaps,  gentlemen, 
I  may  have  been  in  error  to  consume  your  valua 
ble  time  with  matters  of  private  moment.  But"  — 
and  here  he  struck  his  chest  with  his  fist  —  "  no 
one,  my  fellow-citizens,  from  the  poor  but  free-born 
tiller  of  the  fields  to  the  honored  magistrate  upon 
the  bench,  can  afford  to  allow  the  foul  breath  of 
slander  to  sully  the  snowy  bosom  of  his  reputation, 
—  his  reputation,  gentlemen,  which,  in  the  words 
of  the  immortal  bard,  outweighs  the  miser's  gold." 

He  sat  down,  overcome  by  his  feelings,  amid 
vociferous  applause,  and  the  caucus  was  speedily 
adjourned.  Stoughton  went  off  with  a  number  of 
jovial  spirits  to  celebrate  the  occasion.  He  saw  fit 
first,  however,  to  invite  Remington  and  Whiting, 
who  were  standing  together,  to  join  him. 

"  Arthur,"  said  Stoughton,  "  let  me  introduce  you 
to  Mr.  Alderman  Dunn." 

The  alderman  said  a  few  words  to  the  young 
men.  He  addressed  Whiting  with  a  show  of  defer 
ence.  "  We  feel,  Mr.  Whiting,  that  the  efforts  of 
your  association  in  the  interests  of  good  govern 
ment  should  be  recognized.  Mr.  Stoughton's  name 
will  add  strength  to  the  ticket.  The  people  will  see 
that  the  so-called  politicians"  —  and  here  he  smiled 
with  the  air  of  one  who,  though  unjustly  accused, 
is  still  patient  —  "are  not  wholly  regardless  of  the 
public  interests.  I  regret  that  you  will  not  join  us 
in  a  little  something.  Good-evening,  gentlemen." 

Whiting  on  the  way  home  was  severe  in  his  criti 
cisms  upon  Stoughton's  conduct.  If  men  of  his 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  157 

stamp  did  not  take  a  high  stand  in  such  matters, 
what  could  one  expect  of  the  uneducated  ?  He  de 
clared  that  after  what  had  happened  he  could  not 
vote  for  Stoughton.  "I  consider  even  that  Finch- 
ley  a  less  dangerous  man,  for  I  believe  he  acts  up  to 
his  lights,  and  Stoughton  does  n't.  I'm  terribly  dis 
appointed  in  him.  It  was  perfectly  evident  to-night 
that  he  slaughtered  Talboys  to  save  himself." 

Remington  was  unable  to  say  a  word  in  his 
friend's  defence.  He  felt  that  the  latter  had  be 
haved  badly.  He  had  unquestionably  sacrificed 
principle  to  his  own  private  ambition.  The  young 
men  shook  hands  cordially  at  parting.  They  had 
come  of  late  to  feel  a  mutual  liking,  notwithstand 
ing  their  devotion  to  the  same  woman. 


VIII. 

TT  was  a  beautiful  summer  day,  late  in  August. 
•••  The  fog,  that  had  for  a  week  past  enveloped 
Bar  Harbor  like  a  shroud,  had  rolled  away,  and  the 
atmosphere,  appropriate  to  a  cloudless  sky  at  this 
season,  was  tempered  by  a  breeze  fresh  from  the 
ocean. 

One  approaching  this  picturesque  resort  —  more 
familiarly,  though  erroneously,  described  as  Mt. 
Desert  —  cannot  fail  to  be  deeply  impressed  by  the 
bold,  rugged  beauty  of  an  immense  pile  of  cliff 
known  as  Great  Head,  which  lifts  its  broad  flat  sur 
face  to  an  unusual  height  above  the  level  of  the 
waters,  and  juts  seaward  from  amid  the  lesser 
crags  that  line  the  iron  coast,  a  huge  sentinel. 

Many  hundred  miles  to  the  north,  where  the 
waters  of  the  St.  Lawrence  River  mingle  with  the 
Atlantic,  stands  another  mammoth  of  the  geologi 
cal  world,  the  Perce  Rock.  The  incessant  action 
of  the  wind  and  waves  has  divided  the  latter  from 
the  mainland,  and  further  eaten  into  its  solid  centre 
an  arched  pathway,  through  which  small  skiffs  can 
pass  with  safety  when  the  sea  is  tranquil ;  but 
though  its  core  is  threatened,  the  superb  crag 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  159 

towers  proudly,  and,  like  its  more  familiar  rival, 
raises  to  the  cold  heavens  a  broad  expanse,  where 
myriads  of  sea-birds  find  a  resting-place  secure  from 
the  invasion  of  man.  Nought  disturbs  these  feath 
ered  creatures  save  when  an  occasional  steamer  — 
the  sole  link  uniting  the  inhabitants  of  the  isolated 
gulf-ports,  Perce,  Paspebiac,  and  the  beautiful  Gaspe, 
with  the  outer  world — rests  for  a  little  by  the 
rock-bound  village,  and  fires  a  gun  athwart  the 
startled  twilight.  Then  in  an  instant,  as  by  a  touch 
of  magic,  the  vast  rock  —  which  but  just  now,  erect 
amid  the  waters  and  outlined  against  the  evening 
sky,  inspired  the  gazer  by  its  silent,  majestic  beauty 
—  wakes  to  life.  Countless  flocks  of  gulls  and  cor 
morants,  disturbed  by  the  unaccustomed  din,  start 
from  their  eyries  with  hoarse  strident  cries,  and 
hover  on  wide-extended  wing  above  the  sea-girt 
pile.  A  small  number,  startled  into  more  decided 
action,  describe  a  short  ponderous  flight  ocean- 
wards  or  sail  solemnly  along  the  shores,  and  for  a 
few  minutes  the  air  teems  with  the  feathered  tribe  ; 
but  as  the  sounds  die  away  among  the  ancient  hills, 
the  birds  settle  once  more  on  the  familiar  resting- 
place. 

Although  the  geological  formation  is  different, 
the  boldness  and  wild,  silent  grandeur  of  Great 
Head  awaken  emotions  kindred  to  those  which  the 
sight  of  the  Perce"  Rock  inspires.  Little  by  little, 
as  the  steamer  steals  up  the  coast,  the  features  of 
the  giant  crag  define  themselves,  and  the  wondrous 
colors  of  the  rugged  stone  are  revealed  to  the 


I6O  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

admiring  eye.  Civilization  seems  far  remote.  Na 
ture,  pure  and  simple,  untrammelled,  unrestrained, 
holds  free  court  amid  her  silent  worshippers. 

The  steamer  passes  close  to  the  headland ;  but 
the  traveller,  while  still  afar  off,  is  puzzled  as  to 
the  identity  of  sundry  objects,  at  first  mere  specks, 
which  become  visible  at  frequent  intervals  along 
the  level  and  down  the  face  of  the  rocks.  So  mo 
tionless  do  these  appear,  that  only  on  a  near  ap 
proach  is  it  apparent  that  this  citadel  of  nature  is 
possessed  by  living  creatures.  By  degrees  it  dawns 
upon  the  astonished  senses  that  every  sheltering 
ledge,  every  nook  and  comfortable  recess,  —  from 
the  broad  top  to  the  base  line  far  beneath,  rough 
with  barnacles  and  slippery  with  weed,  where  the 
salt  wave  licks  the  feet  of  the  unwary,  —  harbors 
a  pair  of  human  beings  engrossed  in  the  delights  of 
intimate  communion.  With  nothing  apparently  to 
interrupt  their  unfettered  confidences,  with  the  sky 
and  ocean  and  grand  old  rocks  as  sole  witnesses 
of  what  each  may  say  to  the  other,  is  it  strange  that 
the  shrill  notes  of^  the  whistle  breaking  on  the  ear 
convey  the  first  warning  that  they  are  no  longer 
unobserved,  and  that  earth  claims  them  once  more  ? 
Then,  as  the  vessel  steams  abreast  of  the  vast 
promontory,  from  every  airy  niche  along  the  shore, 
from  every  ledge  that  slopes  toward  the  sea,  and 
from  behind  bowlders  that  guard  the  entrance  to 
fascinating  caves,  handkerchiefs,  hats,  and  gay  sun- 
umbrellas  wave  back  a  joyous  answering  welcome, 
and  eager  eyes  are  strained  upon  the  faces  of  the 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  l6l 

new-comers.  But  the  swift  course  of  the  steamer 
leaves  them  but  little  space  in  which  to  satisfy 
their  curiosity.  For  a  few  short  minutes  query 
and  comment  absorb  those  upon  the  shore  and 
those  upon  the  sea.  Then,  as  the  vessel  lapses 
into  distance,  the  young  people  sink  back  upon 
the  rocks,  and  resume  the  thread  of  interrupted 
discourse. 

No  man,  it  is  believed,  has  ever  quite  gauged 
the  cleverness  of  woman.  Every  now  and  then  we 
flatter  ourselves  that  we  have  come  to  the  end  of 
her  resources,  and  hold  her,  figuratively  speaking, 
in  the  hollow  of  our  hand ;  when  all  of  a  sudden 
some  new  little  device  peeps  out,  as  shyly  as  a 
violet  from  a  hedgerow,  to  show  us  the  folly  of  our 
pretension.  It  was  always  with  a  certain  air  of 
exultation,  as  of  a  consciousness  of  security  from 
pursuit,  that  the  hard-worked  male  of  our  great 
cities  had  fled  to  the  trout  streams  and  deer  woods 
to  spend  his  pitiful  fortnight's  vacation.  His  plea 
that  the  discomforts  of  the  primeval  forest  are 
beyond  the  endurance  of  the  gentler  sex  always 
seemed  unanswerable.  Yet  mark  the  sequel !  Wo 
man,  with  a  docility  that  should  have  awakened 
suspicion,  appeared  to  accept  the  situation  ;  but  in 
secret  she  diligently  cast  about  for  an  argument, 
until  she  had  installed  herself  in  an  isle  where  all 
those  health-giving  properties  for  which  her  mate 
was  clamorous  were  to  be  found  in  abundance,  and 
the  annoyances  of  an  outlandish  existence  merely 
such  as  added  a  zest  and  piquancy  to  the  circum- 

ii 


1 62  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

stances.  Here,  assuming  the  garb  of  Diana  the 
Huntress,  she  evinced  herself  prepared  to  woo  the 
delights  of  nature  and  the  unconventional.  History 
repeats  itself.  We  are  all  familiar  with  the  fate  of 
the  too  fond  Samson,  whose  flowing  locks  grew 
less  under  the  scissors  of  the  artful  Philistine. 
To-day,  in  many  a  sylvan  grove  and  by  the  rock- 
bound  sea,  the  hair  of  our  strong  men,  closely 
clipped  for  the  needs  of  summer,  grows  long  again 
in  the  laps  of  maidens  far  cleverer  than  she. 

Among  those,  the  current  of  whose  thought  was 
broken  in  upon  by  the  approach  of  the  steamboat 
on  this  particular  morning,  were  Arthur  Reming 
ton  and  Miss  Dorothy  Crosby,  who,  having  walked 
thither  from  the  village  after  breakfast,  —  a  pleas 
ant  tramp,  —  had  now  for  several  hours  been  en 
sconced  in  a  sheltered  nook.  He  had  on  a  little 
round  cap,  a  sack-coat  over  his  tennis  shirt,  and 
knickerbockers.  Her  dress  was  of  dark-blue  flannel, 
the  looseness  of  which  was  confined  by  a  broadish 
leathern  belt.  About  her  neck  she  wore  a  white 
muslin  scarf,  nonchalantly  tied,  and  the  masses  of 
her  hair  were  surmounted  by  a  wide-brimmed  straw 
hat,  perched  on  the  back  of  the  head,  and  bound 
with  the  same  variety  of  muslin.  Seated  close  to 
the  water's  edge,  she  was  leaning  back  comfortably 
against  the  solid  wall  of  rock,  while  Remington 
lay  stretched  out  beside  her  on  the  sloping  ledge. 
They  were  talking  earnestly ;  and,  as  the  interest 
deepened,  he  picked,  with  increasing  nervous  en 
ergy,  with  the  point  of  Miss  Crosby's  red  sun- 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  163 

umbrella,  at  the  barnacles  that  grew  upon  the  rocks 
around  him. 

Another  winter  had  slipped  away  without  wit 
nessing  any  material  change  in  the  circumstances 
of  Remington.     He  had  dug  away  at  the  law,  and 
been  rewarded  by  some  little  business,  —  nothing 
very  important  or  lucrative,  but  sufficient  to  keep 
discouragement,  which  is  quite  as  gaunt  a  wolf  as 
hunger,   from    the  door.     His  book  on   Railroads 
had  been  favorably  received  by  the  legal  commun 
ity,  even  if  the  profits  of  the  author  had  not  been 
considerable.     He  had  been  almost  as  frequent  a 
patron  of  gayeties  as  the  winter  before ;  but  noth 
ing  had  come  of  this  party-going  beyond  a  deeper 
conviction    than    ever    of    his    love    for    Dorothy 
Crosby,  who  was  still  unmarried,  though  a  prime 
favorite.     The  attentions  of  Ramsay  Whiting  were 
unremitting,  and  people  who  had  nothing  better  to 
do   wondered   whether   she   would  take  the  unex 
ceptionable   young  millionnaire  or  that  handsome 
Woodbury   Stoughton,  with  whom    she   was  seen 
sometimes  tripping  along  the  cross-streets.     Wood- 
bury  Stoughton  was  in  the  legislature,  and  doing 
very  well,  every  one  said. 

Remington  had  run  down  to  Bar  Harbor  to 
spend  the  three  weeks  of  vacation  that  he  had 
allowed  himself,  leaving  his  office  in  the  charge 
of  a  small  boy,  with  directions  to  say,  if  any  one 
called  in  the  mean  while,  that  he  would  return  by 
the  1 5th  of  August.  New  York,  even  varied  by 
an  occasional  afternoon  at  Coney  Island  or  Sunday 


1 64  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

on  a  yacht,  was  extremely  hot  and  dull,  and  really 
there  was  nothing  on  earth  to  detain  him  at  home. 
Woodbury  Stoughton  had  gone  to  Newport  again. 
Rumor  still  found  material  in  his  intimacy  with 
Miss  Idlewild.  Miss  Crosby  was  at  Bar  Harbor. 
She  had  gone  down  there  the  first  week  in  July ; 
and  Remington  had  cause  to  believe  that  Ramsay 
Whiting's  yacht  had  started  recently  in  the  same 
direction.  He  mechanically  stretched  out  his  hand 
for  the  newspaper.  There  would  be  a  steamer 
from  Boston  to-morrow  evening.  He  could  catch 
it  if  he  chose.  He  looked  at  his  watch  reflectively. 
"John,"  he  exclaimed,  with  decision.  "Yes,  sir." 
"  I  am  going  away  to-night,  and  may  not  be  back 
for  three  weeks.  If  Mr.  Phillips  —  that  bald  man 
with  the  sandy  whiskers  —  comes  in  while  I  'm 
gone,  his  papers  are  on  my  desk." 

On  the  way  to  his  destination  he  had  made  sev 
eral  acquaintances,  —  notably  a  Miss  Plumber  from 
Philadelphia,  who  sat  out  with  him  in  the  moon 
light,  and  discoursed  on  the  affectation  of  persons 
who  spelt  her  family  name  with  an  m,  instead  of 
a  b.  Was  n't  it  absurd  ?  She  was  not  in  the  least 
ashamed  herself  because  her  ancestors  might  have 
been  plumbers  centuries  ago.  Remington  had  sat 
purring  his  cigarette,  and  was  very  quiet.  After 
Miss  Plumber  was  gone  to  bed,  —  or  had  retired,  as 
Miss  Johnson,  a  spinster,  who  was  chaperoning  the 
young  lady  in  question,  called  it,  — he  had  walked 
the  deck  for  some  time  in  a  pensive  mood,  now  and 
again  pausing  to  gaze  out  over  the  stern,  beneath 


AN   AVERAGE  MAN.  165 

which  the  churning  waters  of  the  wake  lay  silver- 
white  in  the  moonshine.  His  thoughts  were  remi 
niscent,  and  he  sought  to  analyze  the  experiences 
of  the  past  six  months.  As  always,  the  influence 
of  the  beautiful  in  nature  affected  him  strongly. 
He  turned  his  face  up  to  the  quiet  skies  as  though 
he  would  fain  pierce  the  riddle  that  balks  the  scru 
tiny  of  all.  Hopes  and  strong  resolutions  for  the 
future  filled  his  breast ;  and,  free  for  an  instant 
from  the  pressure  of  material  considerations,  he  let 
his  fancy  have  full  rein.  His  episode  with  Isabel 
Idlewild  came  back  to  him  as  an  indifferent  mem 
ory.  His  spirit  seemed  to  soar,  and  reached  itself 
out  in  an  unqualified  ecstasy  toward  her  whom  he 
hoped  to  see  upon  the  morrow. 

Remington  was  already  tolerably  familiar  with 
the  place  and  its  customs.  A  new-comer  to  Bar 
Harbor  is  apt  at  first  blush  to  be  rather  flattered 
by  the  numerous  attentions  showered  upon  him. 
Urgent  solicitations  to  join  picnics  and  the  various 
expeditions  which  form  a  framework  for  romance, 
greet  him  upon  every  side.  He  finds  himself 
speedily  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  the  closely 
packed  buckboard, — and  the  sailing-party,  pic 
turesque  with  wraps,  and  haply  a  guitar.  He  is 
greatly  in  demand,  and  his  name  is  ever  on  the 
lips  of  would-be  entertainers.  All  this  is  pleasing 
to  the  novice ;  but  as  in  the  natural  course  of 
events  he  comes  to  make,  among  the  young  ladies 
whose  acquaintance  he  has  formed,  those  distinc 
tions  which  render  the  presence  of  a  third  party. 


1 66  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

invidious,  he  ordinarily  develops  into  an  ardent  dis 
ciple  of  the  school  who  share  the  opinion  that  two 
in  the  woods  are  happier  than  three  on  a  buck- 
board,  —  for  let  the  uninitiated  learn  that  each 
seat  of  this  recognized  vehicle  of  the  neighborhood 
is  fashioned  to  hold  a  triple  freight.  Then,  by 
degrees,  it  grows  obvious,  even  to  himself,  that  for 
the  sake  of  sequestered  walks  and  talks  with  the 
beloved  she,  he  is  ready  unblushingly  to  bluff,  with 
the  plea  of  a  previous  engagement,  the  hardiest  and 
most  persistent  of  picnic  organizers. 

At  the  time  of  this  expedition  to  Great  Head, 
Remington  had  been  at  Bar  Harbor  about  a  month. 
He  had  overstayed  his  prescribed  time  by  nearly  a 
week.  During  this  period  he  had  managed  to  see 
a  good  deal  of  Miss  Crosby.  His  lot,  however,  or 
rather  his  state  of  mind,  had  not  been  completely 
blissful ;  for  Ramsay  Whiting's  yacht,  and  the  poet 
izing  tendencies  of  a  Mr.  Lattimer,  who  had  also 
turned  up  here,  were  formidable  distractions  to  his 
innamorata.  Lattimer,  in  especial,  had  interfered 
with  his  plans.  The  young  writer  had  lately  pro 
duced  a  new  volume  of  verses,  and  what  woman  is 
proof  against  the  attraction  of  having  a  poet  all  to 
herself  ?  Canoeing  by  moonlight  with  a  bard,  looks 
a  great  deal  better  than  making  the  same  trip  with 
a  layman.  These  water  trips  and  other  cast-iron 
expeditions  (the  term  cast-iron  symbolizing  their 
complete  exemption  from  interruption)  were  a  fa 
vorite  method  of  procedure  with  Remington  ;  and 
it  was  galling  to  find  a  rival,  who  had  such  unusual 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  l6/ 

resources  at  command,  ploughing  with  his  heifer. 
He  was  handicapped  from  the  start,  he  mournfully 
reflected.  Sometimes,  in  desperation,  he  would 
affect,  for  a  day  or  two,  the  society  of  the  aforesaid 
Miss  Plumber,  who  sang  "  Over  the  Garden  Wall," 
and  other  ditties,  to  a  banjo  with  a  charming  chir- 
piness.  She  was  an  audacious  little  person,  and 
informed  him  one  evening,  as  they  were  floating 
under  the  harvest-moon,  at  the  respective  ends 
of  a  canoe,  that  she  preferred  playing  first  banjo 
to  second  fiddle.  Remington  pretended  not  to 
understand  the  jest;  but  he  took  care,  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening,  not  to  let  his  eyes  wander  so 
much  in  the  direction  of  another  skiff  that  lay  to 
leeward. 

Nevertheless  he  had  managed  to  be  pretty  assidu 
ous  in  his  attentions  to  Miss  Crosby.  He  had  be 
come  vastly  more  intimate  with  her  in  the  course 
of  their  wanderings  over  the  island,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  as  if  he  had  confided  to  her  his  uttermost 
self.  What  she  did  not  know  about  him  was,  as 
he  would  have  phrased  it,  not  worth  knowing. 
Together  they  had  probed  the  most  interesting 
problems  of  human  experience  and  destiny,  and 
wandered  at  will  over  the  delightful  field  of  specu 
lation.  But  time,  which  latterly  had  seemed  to 
the  young  man  as  nought,  now  stood  frowning 
in  his  r61e  of  taskmaster.  It  was  necessary  for 
Remington  to  sail  away  upon  the  morrow.  This 
was  to  be  his  last  interview  with  Miss  Dorothy 
Crosby ;  and  in  truth,  at  the  moment  of  their  in- 


1 68  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

terruption,  he  had  been  bewailing  the  harshness 
of  his  fate  in  this  particular. 

"  Yes,"  he  exclaimed  moodily,  as  the  steamer 
lapsed  into  distance,  "  such  is  life.  Just  as  one  is 
beginning  to  be  thoroughly  contented,  '  comes  the 
blind  Fury  with  the  abhorred  shears.'  But  there 's 
no  use  in  complaining  ;  I  'm  obliged  to  go." 

"  I  wish  you  could  stay,"  said  the  girl.  "  We 
really  have  had  a  very  pleasant  time  these  past  few 
weeks  in  our  rambles,  or  rather  scrambles,  together, 
haven't  we?  Whatever  people  say,  there's  no 
place  like  Mt.  Desert  for  getting  to  know  one's 
fellow-creatures, — for  seeing  them  in  a  pleasant 
way.  In  New  York  it  always  seems  to  me,  some 
how  or  other,  as  if  I  never  get  a  moment's  time  to 
myself.  We  live  in  a  perpetual  whirl  from  morn 
ing  to  night ;  and  as  for  seeing  anything  of  one's 
friends,  it 's  completely  out  of  the  question.  Every 
one  there  keeps  on  the  go  until  they  are  ready  to 
drop." 

"  That 's  what  we  all  do  in  America,"  replied 
Remington.  "  We  live  on  our  nerves  through  the 
winter,  and  when  it  thaws  we  pine  and  peak  with 
the  snow-piles."  He  was  thinking  of  his  own  de 
bilitated  condition  the  preceding  spring.  In  fact, 
he  felt  by  no  means  rested  now.  He  had  kept  up 
the  pace  pretty  well  since  he  had  been  down  at 
Bar  Harbor.  "Do  you  know,  comfortable  as  we 
both  look  stretched  out  here,  I  suppose  that  really 
it  is  all  wrong.  This  luxury  of  limpness,  this  yearn 
ing  for  flannel-shirted  Platonism,  what  are  they  but 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  169 

protests  of  overtaxed  nature?  We  overdo,  and  so 
in  our  leisure  moments  we  shrink  from  upright  at 
titudes  and  conventional  costumes." 

Miss  Crosby  was  leaning  lazily  back,  so  that  her 
head  rested  against  the  base  of  the  cliff.  Her  arms 
were  folded,  and  she  was  looking  out  over  the  sea. 
"  A  good  many  of  us  certainly  do  have  the  air  of 
convalescents.  Why,",  she  continued  after  a  pause, 
"  do  you  say  Platonism  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  exactly.  Perhaps  I  was  am 
bitious  to  be  a  little  epigrammatic.  I  imagine," 
he  continued,  -making  a  ferocious  dab  with  the  tip 
of  the  sun-umbrella  at  an  obstinate  barnacle, "  what 
I  meant  was  that  when  one  feels  debilitated  and  in 
a  state  of  collapse,  there  is  a  tendency  to  grope 
after  sympathy,  just  as  one  takes  a  tonic." 

"  That  is,  three  times  a  day,  before  or  after  meals 
according  to  circumstances,"  said  Dorothy,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Precisely.  This  getting  to  know  each  other  all 
to  pieces,  as  we  do  down  here,  is,  so  to  speak,  a  san 
itary  precaution.  It  props  one  up.  It  acts  as  a 
stimulant.  Our  systems  have  become  so  depen 
dent  upon  excitement  that  if  we  renounced  it  alto 
gether  we  should  die,  like  the  opium-eater  suddenly 
deprived  of  his  drug."  He  paused  a  moment. 
"  And  when  the  medicine  has  fulfilled  its  purpose 
you  throw  away  the  bottle,"  he  said,  with,  a  tone 
that,  though  jocular,  had  a  certain  bitterness. 

The  girl,  however,  seemed  not  to  notice  the  sud 
den  introduction  of  the  second  person.  "  I  am 


I/O  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

afraid  that  is  what  sometimes  takes  place.  Don't 
you  think,  Mr.  Remington,"  she  asked,  "  the  genera 
tion  of  to-day  is  dreadfully  disposed  to  be  contented, 
provided  only  it  can  amuse  itself  ?  It  sometimes 
seems  as  if  we,  who  have  all  the  advantages  of  life, 
—  at  least  the  girls,  —  are  brought  up  to  go  through 
the  world  reaching  out  our  hands  after  happiness, 
just  as  a  reckless  person  wanders  through  an  or 
chard,  breaking  off  apple-blossoms  simply  because 
they  smell  sweet." 

"  Only  for  apple-blossoms,  read  hearts." 
"  Hearts,  and  a  great  many  other  things,  Mr. 
Remington,"  she  replied,  with  a  blush.  "  It  is  n't 
hearts  alone.  It's  anything  that  caters  to  our 
yearning  for  excitement,  that  charms  our  love  of 
the  beautiful  or  the  luxurious  or  the  clever.  Do 
you  know,  I  believe  that  unrefined  people  are  se 
cretly  more  disturbing  to  my  equanimity  than  bad 
people,  and  ugliness  at  times  affects  me  to  a  degree 
that  makes  me  ashamed.  Somehow  I  seem  to 
myself  to  be  gliding  down  the  river  of  life  in  a 
golden  barge,  —  with  lilies  in  my  hair,  and  my 
senses  steeped  with  music  and  the  aroma  of  flow 
ers,  and  all  that  is  soft  and  delicious.  I  often  think 
that  all  I  live  for  is  sensations.  It  is  a  dreadful 
thing  to  say  one  does  n't  care  for  people,  but  it 
comes  over  me  occasionally  that  I'm  heartless, 
or  rather  that  I  care  for  most  human  beings  in  the 
same  way  as  I  do  for  poems  and  symphonies  and 
statuary ;  they  appeal  to  my  aesthetic  sense,  —  in 
short,  they  cause  me  an  emotion.  While  I  am  in 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  I/ 1 

their  presence  I  am  fond  of  them  ;  if  I  cease  to  be 
with  them  they  pass  out  of  my  mind." 

As  she  spoke  she  gazed  out  to  sea  over  the 
expanse  of  tranquil  water,  with  the  expression  of 
intensity  usual  with  her  when  absorbed.  Rem 
ington  looked  up  at  her  stealthily.  He  was  en 
deavoring,  as  men  are  so  apt  to  do  in  discussing 
the  subjective  with  the  other  sex,  to  discover  some 
allusion  to  himself  in  her  words. 

"  I  should  say,  you  have  a  great  deal  of  feeling," 
he  protested  earnestly. 

Her  glance  still  strayed  dreamily  oceanwards. 
Her  bosom  rose  and  fell  as  with  the  stimulus  of 
interesting  emotions.  She  clasped  her  hands  to 
gether  in  her  lap  and  sighed  gently. 

"  Why  do  you  sigh,  Miss  Crosby  ?  " 

"Did  I  sigh  ?"  Her  cheek  flushed  slightly,  and 
she  turned  her  eloquent  eyes  full  upon  him.  "  I 
don't  know  exactly  why  I  did  sigh,  Mr.  Reming 
ton."  The  color  in  her  face  deepened,  as  if  either 
the  ardor  of  the  young  man's  glance  had  suddenly 
suggested  to  her  the  vicinity  of  peril,  or  she  were 
mortified  at  the  degree  to  which  she  had  been  led 
into  uttering  her  secret  thoughts.  At  any  rate, 
she  roused  herself  from  her  position  and  stood  erect 
upon  the  ledge  of  rock.  The  breeze  gently  stirred 
some  loosened  bunches  of  her  hair  and  the  stream 
ers  of  her  jaunty  hat.  She  shaded  her  eyes  with 
her  hand. 

"  How  calm  the  sea  is  to-day !  Oh,  look !  there 
is  another  yacht!  It  is  n't  unlike  the  Culprit." 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 


That  was  the  name  of  Ramsay  Whiting's  sloop, 
and  the  reminder  was  scarcely  pleasing  to  her 
lover,  who  still  dallied  in  his  recumbent  attitude. 
His  thoughts  were  coursing  curiously.  To  one 
genuinely  excited,  the  outline  and  proportions  of 
things  often  present  themselves  to  the  mind  with 
a  distinctness  analogous  to  that  with  which  we  be 
hold  material  objects  at  sunset.  There  is  a  clear 
ness  in  the  brain  at  such  times  that  resembles  the 
crepuscular  atmosphere.  Impassioned  as  Reming 
ton  was  by  his  sudden  determination  to  declare  his 
love  to  Dorothy,  —  for  he  had,  on  leaving  the  hotel 
that  morning,  only  a  haunting  suspicion  of  a  design 
to  take  any  such  step,  —  he  was  still  conscious  of 
himself  as  an  individual  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  could 
not  help  thinking  of  the  language  and  attitude  most 
befitting  an  avowal  of  this  kind.  With  all  his  trepi 
dation,  he  had  leisure  to  recognize  the  absence 
of  a  spontaneity  and  suppleness  he  had  supposed 
germane  to  proposals  of  marriage,  and  to  deduce 
therefrom  grim  and  caustic  reflections  regarding 
the  methods  of  his  ancestors.  He  was,  in  truth 
the  victim  of  their  philosophy  of  repression.  His 
power  of  feeling  intensely  had  been  so  far  abridged 
and  adulterated  that  he  was  unable  to  escape  self- 
scrutiny  in  his  most  ardent  moments.  Determined 
as  he  was  in  his  mind  to  ask  Miss  Crosby  to  be 
come  his  wife,  why  should  the  arguments  in  favor 
of  and  against  his  action  appear  as  distinct  to 
his  consciousness  as  Banquo's  ghost  to  the  guilty 
Macbeth  ? 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  1/3 

"  And  so  you  are  going  back  to-morrow  to  the 
law  and  liberty,"  said  Dorothy  ;  and  she  smiled  with 
the  satisfaction  of  one  who  is  pleased  at  finding  a 
half-truth  in  her  alliterative  and  somewhat  random 
speech.  She  resumed  her  seat,  as  if  glad,  now  that 
she  was  on  her  guard,  to  return  in  a  measure  to 
their  former  ground.  "  It  must  be  rather  nice  to 
be  a  man,"  she  continued  reflectively ;  "  you  all 
have  such  opportunities."  She  delayed  a  moment, 
and,  picking  up  a  pebble,  tossed  it  from  her  hand 
and  watched  it  bound  from  rock  to  rock  into  the 
sea  beneath.  "  It 's  a  strange  world.  I  wonder  if 
things  puzzle  men  as  much  as  they  do  girls.  We 
seem,  somehow,  to  skip  through  existence  just  like 
that  stone,  and  our  influence  in  life  is  about  as  wide 
as  its  paltry  ripple."  She  leaned  back,  and,  clasp 
ing  her  hands  behind  her  head,  bent  her  gaze  on 
space  from  under  her  hat. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  rather  romantic  ideas  on  the 
subject,"  he  answered,  with  eyes  cast  down,  and 
tapping  gently  on  the  ledge  with  the  sun-umbrella. 
"  Do  you  know,  Miss  Crosby,"  he  continued  in  a 
low  tone,  "  I  think  the  men  in  this  country  are 
brought  up  to  have  a  peculiar  reverence  for  women. 
We  look  up  to  them  somehow  as  higher  and  purer 
beings  than  we  are.  I  believe  a  truly  noble  woman 
is  the  divinest  thing  in  creation,  and  that  she  can 
raise  the  man  who  loves  her,  and  whom  she  loves, 
up  to  those  shining  stars  whose  ministrant  she  is. 
That  is  her  power  ;  that  is  her  mission."  Reming 
ton  spoke  earnestly,  Conscious  as  he  was  of  his 


1/4  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

words,  he  believed  them  with  all  his  heart.  "  I  've 
been  rather  an  aimless  fellow,  I  know ;  I  don't 
suppose  I  amount  to  a  great  deal ;  but  I  've  always 
clung  to  a  faith  in  something  ideal  regarding  love." 
He  paused  nervously.  "  Miss  Crosby,  I  —  I  love 
you.  Are  you  willing  to  become  my  wife  ? "  He 
wanted  to  call  her  Dorothy,  but  he  felt  instinctively 
that  he  had  no  right  to  do  so. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Remington  !  "  There  was  a  deathly 
silence.  Miss  Crosby  sat  with  her  eyes  on  her 
lap,  —  the  type,  as  it  were,  of  hushed,  demure 
contrition. 

"  I  know,"  he  exclaimed,  in  jerky  sentences,  "it's 
very  premature.  Of  course  I  Ve  no  right  to  say 
anything  of  the  kind  on  so  short  an  acquaintance. 
But  I  could  n't  help  it,  Miss  Crosby,  indeed  I 
could  n't.  These  past  few  weeks  have  been  the 
happiest  of  my  life.  I  meant  to  go  away  without 
letting  you  know  anything,  but  somehow  or  other 
the  words  escaped  in  spite  of  me." 

"  I  'm  perfectly  aware,"  he  went  on  presently,  as 
the  girl  still  remained  motionless,  save  for  a  few 
sighs  and  slow  shakings  of  the  head,  "  it 's  impos 
sible  you  can  care  for  me.  I  'm  a  friend,  —  as  you 
said  the  other  day  when  we  were  at  Duck  Brook, — 
and  the  idea  of  any  other  relation  has  very  likely 
never  entered  your  mind.  But  I  do  love  you  so 
much ! "  And  he  leaned  forward  beseechingly, 
with  a  sudden  impetuosity. 

"  I  thought  of  you  merely  as  a  friend,"  she  mur- 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  1/5 

mured.  "  Oh,  I  'm  dreadfully  sorry,  Mr.  Reming 
ton.  We  were  such  good  friends." 

"  Is  it  impossible,  Miss  Crosby  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  so.  Oh,  yes,  quite,  —  it 's  quite  im 
possible." 

Remington  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and 
for  several  moments  no  word  was  spoken.  She 
was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  I  think  I  must  be  starting  for  home,  Mr.  Rem 
ington.  It  is  getting  late." 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  one  question,"  said  Reming 
ton,  with  a  dry,  relentless  accent.  "  Is  there  any 
one  else  that  you  care  for  ?  I  mean,  is  there  no 
chance  for  me  because  you  like  somebody  else  ? " 

"  No,"  she  answered  quietly.  "  There  is  nobody 
else  that  I  care  for,  I  think." 

Their  walk  to  the  village  was  silent  and  embar 
rassed.  They  halted  at  the  steps  of  her  hotel. 
"  I  suppose  I  had  better  say  good-by  now,  Miss 
Crosby.  We  sail  early  to-morrow,"  he  said  a  little 
stiffly. 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Remington.  I  thought  we  were 
going  to  be  such  friends.  But  you  will  come  and 
see  me  in  New  York,  won't  you  ?  "  and  she  held  out 
her  hand. 

"  I  will  try  and  do  so,  Miss  Crosby.     Good-by." 


IX. 


evening,  within  a  week  after  Remington's 
dismissal,  Woodbury  Stoughton  was  sitting 
on  the  piazza  of  the  Ocean  House  at  Newport. 
He  had  just  lighted  a  cigar,  and,  having  obtained  a 
purchase  with  his  feet  against  the  solid  railing, 
was  gently  tilting  his  chair  to  the  rhythm  of  his 
own  reflections.  He  was  sufficiently  in  shadow  to 
escape  the  scrutiny  of  those  who  still  strolled  up 
and  down  the  broad  veranda,  listening  to  the  music 
wafted  thither  from  the  not  far  distant  Casino.  It 
was  about  midnight,  but  the  form  of  entertainment 
known  as  a  hop  was  there  in  progress,  despite  the 
heat  of  the  atmosphere  ;  and  the  attendant  car 
riages  of  the  revellers,  seen  through  the  foliage, 
passing  and  repassing  each  other,  like  huge  solemn 
glow-worms,  upon  the  avenue  which  fronts  the 
hotel,  gave  a  murmur  to  the  darkness. 

Woodbury  would  on  the  morrow  be  congratu 
lated  as  one  of  the  luckiest  fellows  going.  Miss 
Isabel  Idlewild,  the  only  daughter  of  the  rich 
banker,  had  plighted  him  her  troth  to-day,  and  he 
had  just  returned  from  an  interview  with  the  fam 
ily,  supplemented  by  a  passage  in  the  parlor  with 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  177 

his  Dulcinea.  The  old  man,  as  his  would-be  son- 
in-law  mentally  styled  Peter  Idlewild,  had  thrown 
no  obstacles  in  the  way  of  an  immediate  engage 
ment.  Any  disposition  he  might  have  had  to 
complain  at  Stonghton's  lack  of  means  had  been 
silenced  by  his  wife,  who  took  it  upon  herself  to 
expound  the  advantages  of  the  young  man's  social 
position.  The  lover  had  accordingly  found  the 
bearding  of  the  male  parent  a  less  terrible  under 
taking  than  convention  painted  it.  The  banker 
had  declared  Isabel's  happiness  to  be  his  own. 

"  My  daughter  tells  me,  sir,  that  you  and  she 
have  kind  o'  come  to  terms,"  he  said,  when  he 
had  taken  the  young  man  into  the  library  and  shut 
the  door.  This  kind  of  thing  was  foreign  to  the 
experience  of  the  ex-circus  manager.  He  felt  all  at 
sea,  and  was  doubtful  whether  propriety  demanded 
from  him  a  jocular  or  sedate  attitude. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Idlewild,  I  believe  so  ;  that  is,  of 
course,  with  your  consent.  I  love  Miss  Idlewild, 
and  I  have  reason  to  think  she  is  not  indifferent  to 
me." 

"  Well,  sir,"  continued  the  father,  with  a  curious 
smile,  "  I  don't  see  that  my  consent  has  much  to 
do  with  it.  If  you  love  Isabel,  and  she  loves  you, 
you  're  bound  to  get  married  somehow,  are  n't  you  ? 
That  Js  the  way  they  did  things  when  I  was  a  boy. 
However,  if  my  consent  is  all  that  stands  in  the 
way,  I  guess  you  won't  have  much  trouble  !  " 

Stoughton  expressed  his  gratitude  in  an  appro 
priate  word  or  two. 

12 


1/8  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  "  inquired  the  other,  scruti 
nizing  the  young  man's  handsome  face  and  genteel 
person. 

"  Just  twenty-six." 

"  Humph  !     In  the  law,  are  n't  yer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  have  been  practising  about  two 
years." 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  make  a  very  big  income 
yet."  There  was  a  twinkle  in  the  capitalist's  eye, 
and  Stoughton,  in  replying,  blushed  with  some  con 
fusion.  This  question  of  money  was  one  which  he 
had  dreaded  to  touch  upon. 

"  No,  sir,  I  can't  say  the  law  is  very  lucrative 
just  yet.  It 's  rather  hard  sledding  for  a  young 
man  at  first,  but  I  'm  beginning  to  see  my  way 
ahead  a  little.  There  's  plenty  of  room  on  the  top 
benches,  they  say,"  he  added,  with  an  effort  to  be 
sprightly. 

"  I  've  a  small  property  of  my  own,  Mr.  Idlewild," 
he  continued  presently. 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"About  fifteen  thousand  dollars." 

"  Humph  !  Well,"  the  banker  remarked  after  a 
short  pause,  "I  guess  I  sha'n't  let  my  daughter 
come  to  want.  How  much  now  '11  you  need  to  set 
up  with  ?  I  suppose  a  hundred  thousand  will  keep 
you  going  for  a  year  or  two." 

"  You  are  very  liberal,  sir.  I  did  not  expect  any 
thing  of  the  sort.  I  shall  do  my  best  to  make 
your  daughter  happy,"  Stoughton  went  on  to  say, 
feeling  perhaps,  in  his  satisfaction,  that  something 
of  the  sort  was  incumbent  on  him. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  1/9 

"Very  good,  young  man.  If  she 's  happy,  I  shall 
be."  The  millionnaire  paused  a  moment,  and  then 
with  a  relaxation  of  his  dry  tone,  as  if  mindful  that, 
after  all,  this  was  he  whom  his  child  had  chosen  for 
a  husband,  "She's  a  good  girl,  Mr.  Stoughton, — 
a  good  girl.  The  man  who  gets  her,  gets  a  gold 
mine.  If  she  's  fond  of  you,  that's  all  I  want. 
You  have  my  consent,  and  I  Ve  money  enough  for 
you  both." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  and  Peter  Idlewild 
rose  with  a  quizzical  smile.  "  I  guess  you  don't 
want  to  see  me  much  longer,  Mr.  Stoughton  ; 
there  's  somebody  waiting  for  you  in  the  parlor." 

In  the  parlor  the  successful  suitor  had  found  his 
fiancee.  She  arose  and  stepped  forward  to  meet 
him.  Her  face  was  somewhat  pale,  but  her  eyes 
sparkled  with  a  happy  brightness.  "  Was  pa  very 
terrible?"  she  asked  with  a  joyous  laugh,  as  he 
grasped  her  fingers. 

"  He  made  no  objection.  He  seems  quite  willing 
that  we  should  be  married,  Isabel." 

"  Dear  old  pa.  I  knew  he  would  n't  say  no.  And 
are  you  quite  happy  ? "  she  continued,  as  they  sat 
down  together  on  the  sofa.  "It  is  so  funny  to 
think  we  are  actually  engaged.  Do  you  believe  it 
will  surprise  people  ?  Oh,  how  strange  it  all  seems ! " 

"  Does  n't  it,  dear  ? "  and  Stoughton  reached  out 
and  took  in  .his  the  girl's  dimpled  hand. 

She  turned  her  face  toward  him.  "Do  you 
truly,  truly  love  me  ?  And  you  will  never  laugh 
at  me  again  ? " 


1 80  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

"  Laugh  at  you  ?  Isabel,  do  you  think  I  would 
laugh  at  you  ?  What  I  told  you  yesterday  was 
true,  every  word  of  it.  You  are  dearer  than  every 
thing  in  the  world  to  me.  I  love  you,  —  I  worship 
you,  —  I  adore  you.  Isabel,  Isabel,  —  look  at  me, 
tell  me  you  believe  me." 

There  was  nothing  of  disordered  passion  in  the 
young  man's  manner.  His  words  were  spoken  in 
a  low  sweet  tone  ;  and  as  he  waited  for  a  response, 
he  threw  his  arm  around  her  form  in  a  caressing 
fashion.  She  trembled  convulsively,  and  half  sought 
to  elude  his  embrace  ;  but  his  grasp  detained  her. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  timid  but  fond  playful 
ness.  "  Shall  I  believe  you  ?  You  see,  I  really 
know  you  so  little."  She  paused  an  instant.  "  Yes, 
I  believe  you,"  she  said,  softly  and  shyly. 

He  took  her  face  between  his  palms  with  a  de 
lighted  air.  "  Repeat  now  after  me,  '  I  love  you, 
Woodbury.'  " 

"  Oh,  I  could  n't !  "  She  disengaged  herself,  and 
turned  away  with  an  embarrassment  that  was 
charmingly  coy. 

"  Yes,  you  can.  Please."  And  the  young  man 
renewed  his  hold. 

"  Oh,  I  could  n't  ! "  She  trembled  slightly  again, 
and  for  a  while  was  silent.  Then  at  last,  with  a 
downcast  glance  and  a  diffident  little  laugh,  she 
said,  so  low  that  it  fell  from  her  lips  like  a  whisper, 
"I  —  I  like  you  very  much,  —  Woodbury." 

"  You  darling  !  "  and  the  lover  pressed  an  ardent 
kiss  upon  her  cheek.  Her  eyes  were  bent  upon 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  l8l 

her  lap.  Her  breath  came  and  went  quickly.  She 
turned  suddenly,  and,  shaking  herself  free  from  his 
pressure,  bent  her  gaze  full  upon  him.  There  was 
a  strange  light  of  joy  on  her  face.  He  leaned  for 
ward  toward  her,  and  with  a  low  cry  she  suffered 
herself  to  be  clasped  in  his  arms.  Her  lips  sought 
his  in  a  long  kiss  of  love. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  as  she  nestled  her  head  against 
his  shoulder,  "  and  you  do  really  love  me,  don't  you, 
dear  ?  For  I  love  you  so,  —  Woodbury,"  and  she 
hid  her  shamefaced  eyes  again  at  the  sound  of  his 
name. 

He  patted  her  hair  softly.  "  I  never  thought 
I  should  care  for  any  one  but  pa ;  but  I  do, 
you  find."  And  she  laughed  with  a  happy,  blissful 
glee. 

These  memories  were  present  to  Stoughton  as  he 
sat  smoking  on  the  hotel  piazza.  He  had  parted 
from  Isabel  an  hour  before.  What  his  own  sensa 
tions  were  he  scarcely  knew.  He  was  very  fortu 
nate,  and  he  ought  to  feel  very  happy ;  so  he  said 
to  himself,  as  he  watched  the  wreaths  of  smoke 
dissolve  into  the  darkness.  And  yet,  what  meant 
this  strange  weight  about  his  heart,  which  op 
pressed  him  ?  Had  he  not  won  what  he  had  been 
striving  for,  accomplished  what  he  had  planned  and 
desired  ?  He  was  in  love  with  Isabel,  and  he  was 
going  to  marry  her.  She  would  make  him  very 
happy.  She  was  a  fine  girl.  He  would  be  well  off, 
and  able  to  satisfy  his  ambition.  He  ought  to  be 
perfectly  contented  and  happy.  He  was  perfectly 


1 82  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

contented.  Was  he  ?  Why  then  did  he  not  feel  a 
wild  transport,  a  desire  to  throw  his  cap  into  the 
air  and  proclaim  his  rapture  to  the  world  ?  A  man 
just  engaged  should  be  bubbling  over  with  bliss, 
and  here  he  was  musing  in  a  corner.  That  inter 
view  with  Isabel  should  have  driven  away  the  last 
vestige  of  doubt,  she  was  so  sweet,  so  confiding, 
so  full  of  love  for  him.  Yes,  and  he  —  he  had  sat 
there,  conscious  that  he  was  kissing  her  as  a  doll, 
as  a  beautiful  toy,  —  conscious,  though  he  had 
striven  to  banish  the  impression,  that  he  regarded 
her  in  the  light  of  an  inferior  being.  And  yet  he 
had  acted  with  his  eyes  open  and  of  his  own  free 
will.  Pshaw !  these  repinings  were  but  the  last 
throes  of  his  subdued  romanticism,  resembling  the 
muscular  action  which  makes  hens  run  about  the 
barnyard  after  their  heads  have  been  cut  off.  If 
it  was  to  be  done  over  again,  would  he  not  do  it  ? 
Yes  :  and  still  this  weight  pressed  upon  his  heart 
and  numbed  his  sense  of  happiness. 

Wherefore  was  this  ?  Did  he  love  Dorothy 
Crosby  ?  Did  he  feel  a  regret  that  he  had  barred 
himself  forever  from  the  chance  of  making  her  his 
wife  ?  Bah  !  He  had  taken  this  step  with  delib 
eration.  One  cannot  have  everything  in  the  world, 
and  he  had  made  his  choice.  No,  he  did  not  love 
her ;  he  did  not  wish  to  marry  her.  Why,  in 
Heaven's  name,  should  he  marry  her  ?  What  was 
this  tyrant  that  was  oppressing  his  spirit  with  these 
sentimental  doubts  ?  He  surely  had  a  right  to  con 
sult  his  own  happiness  in  this  respect.  There  was 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  183 

no  tangible  reason  why  he  should  wed  a  penniless 
girl  merely  because  she  was  sweet  and  lovely.  That 
might  have  been  the  philosophy  of  his  ancestors, 
but  he  could  not  subscribe  to  it.  But  did  he  not 
subscribe  to  it  in  spite  of  himself  ? 

He  cast  his  eyes  up  toward  the  sky.  Above  the 
waving  foliage  of  the  trees,  which  the  night  air  now 
was  stirring,  the  stars  were  burning  calm  and  clear. 
Their  orbs,  eloquent  with  chaste  but  impenetrable 
mystery,  embittered,  even  while  they  softened,  the 
young  man's  spirit.  He  had  gazed  so  often  at  the 
stars  before  ;  and  what  had  they  ever  brought  him 
but  thoughts  which  were  not  to  be  fathomed  and 
aspirations  that  could  not  be  fulfilled  ?  They  had 
been  the  bugbear  of  his  days,  —  these  vague,  intan 
gible  yearnings.  They  had  fettered  the  play  and 
scope  of  his  natural  impulses  and  desires.  Ideals  ? 
Aspirations  ?  What  were  they  but  the  reflex  of  a 
craving  for  self-approbation  based  on  the  approval 
of  his  fellow-men  ?  That  which  was  called  right  and 
that  which  was  called  wrong,  was  right  or  wrong 
merely  by  a  reference  to  a  human  judgment  founded 
upon  the  laws  of  nature  and  the  laws  of  society. 
The  latter  varied  with  every  clime  and  race.  Why 
was  it  that  this  shadow  of  a  curse  should  be  hover 
ing  about  him,  like  some  pale  spectre  ?  There 
were  times  when  men  had  faith  in  ghosts ;  there 
were  times  when  they  believed  in  hell.  But  those 
days  were  past ;  at  least  they  were  past  for  him. 
The  conception  of  an  avenging  Deity  was  no  longer 
tenable  by  thinking  beings.  He  had  no  more  fear 


1 84  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

of  future  punishment  than  of  a  graveyard  at  night ; 
and  what  was  there  terrible  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
tombs  of  the  dead,  but  the  damp  and  cold  ?  What 
difference  would  it  make  whether  or  not  he  listened 
to  the  voice  of  this  whispering  tyrant  ?  Time 
reconciles  us  to  all  things.  Time  had  laid  its  moss 
over  his  wounds  before,  and  would  do  so  again. 
He  had  no  fear  of  remorse.  Remorse  ?  And  where 
fore  remorse  ?  His  act  was  but  the  selection  of 
his  own  happiness,  a  mere  choice  between  two 
agreeable  methods  of  living.  He  liked  the  girl. 
.  He  could  get  on  with  her  perfectly,  —  and  her 
money  would  be  everything  to  him,  for  the  last  six 
months  had  treated  him  badly.  He  had  lost  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  in  speculation. 

His  thoughts  ran  on  in  a  swift  and  analytic  vein. 
And  yet,  save  for  ideality,  for  the  hope  of  some 
thing  beyond  the  ken  of  man,  the  animal  pleasures 
and  passions  were  the  sweetest.  Was  not  all  higher 
enjoyment  based  necessarily  on  an  assumed,  or  at 
least  a  longed-for,  sympathy  between  the  unseen 
and  the  human  ?  What  was  it  that  deterred  him 
from  vice  and  lower  pursuits,  that  spurred  him  to 
intellectual  endeavor,  save  a  sense  of  kinship  with 
something  nobler  ?  If  he  followed  out  the  train  of 
his  materialistic  logic  to  the  end,  where  would  it 
lead  him  ?  What  would  become  of  the  race  and 
civilization  ?  The  race  !  Civilization  !  What  was 
it  to-day  ?  A  surging  mass  of  beings,  each  striving 
to  outstrip  the  other.  And  whither  were  they  tend 
ing  ?  Who  could  tell  ?  And  here  he  sat,  —  a  man, 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  185 

a  human  creature,  one  of  them.  Above  his  head 
the  stars  were  twinkling  with  silent  poetry.  Before 
his  mental  vision  rose  a  picture  of  the  throbbing 
interests  and  ambitions  of  real  life.  The  unreal 
and  the  real,  the  material  and  the  ideal !  He  was 
conscious  of  a  sense  of  shame  that  he  would  fain 
have  silenced,  of  a  bitter  pang  that  would  not 
depart.  Cursed  fate,  that  he  must  be  a  victim  of 
the  momentum  of  bygone  ages,  of  the  superstition 
of  the  past.  And  yet,^ven  while  he  murmured 
was  he  not  aware  in  his  heart  that  in  struggle  and 
resistance  lay  the  secret  of  the  shining  stars  ? 

He  sat  and  pondered.  Presently  he  took  from 
his  pocket  a  letter-case,  out  of  which  he  extracted 
a  tiny  note.  It  had  the  thumbed  look  which  pro 
ceeds  from  frequent  examination,  and  was  in  a  fem 
inine  hand.  Stonghton  opened  it  and  stared  at  the 
white  page.  Perhaps  by  holding  it  toward  the 
adjacent  gaslight  he  might  have  been  able  to  de 
cipher  the  writing.  But  this  was  quite  unnecessary, 
for  the  young  man  knew  the  contents  by  heart. 
The  note  was  from  Dorothy  Crosby,  merely  a  few 
lines  thanking  him  for  a  book  he  had  lent  her. 
He  let  it  remain  for  a  moment  on  his  knee ;  then, 
slowly  folding  it  into  a  narrow  strip,  struck  a  match 
and  watched  the  flame  eat  its  gradual  way  up  the 
paper.  When  it  was  well  ablaze  he  lit  his  cigar 
with  this  precious  allumette.  As  he  tossed  the 
remains,  which  threatened  to  burn  his  fingers,  over 
the  piazza  rail,  the  hotel  coach  came  bowling  up  to 
the  entrance.  It  was  the  hour  of  arrival  for  those 


1 86  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

who  had  left  New  York  that  afternoon  by  the  boat. 
There  was  but  one  passenger,  a  thick-set  young 
man,  well  wrapped  in  an  ulster.  As  he  descended 
from  the  vehicle  the  light  fell  on  his  face  and  dis 
closed  Finchley.  Stoughton  was  standing  close  by 
the  steps,  and  the  young  men  recognized  each  other 
simultaneously.  One  who  was  alert  might  have 
noticed  a  slight  scowl  of  annoyance  flit  across  the 
new-comer's  countenance,  but  he  held  out  his  hand 
cordially. 

"  Well,  well,  Finchley,  you  're  about  the  last  man 
I  expected  to  see  in  this  place.  How  did  you  leave 
them  all  in  New  York  ?  How  are  stocks  ? " 

"  Dull,  dull  as  death.  There  was  so  little  doing 
I  thought  I  'd  run  down  here  for  Sunday.  It  looks 
as  if  you  had  it  pretty  much  all  to  yourself  here," 
he  said,  glancing  up  at  the  wide-stretching  wooden 
building,  and  along  the  broad  piazza,  which  now  lay 
silent  and  deserted. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  rather  a  night-owl.  You  '11  find  it 
lively  enough  to-morrow,  though.  But  you  must 
be  done  up  with  the  heat.  Come  in  and  have 
something  to  drink." 

Stoughton  led  the  way  into  the  bar.  While  the 
attendant  prepared  their  orders,  the  young  men 
chatted  on  indifferent  topics.  "  Here  's  luck.  Ah," 
said  Finchley,  as  he  drained  his  glass,  "  that  goes 
to  the  right  spot.  Tell  me,"  he  asked  presently, 
turning  toward  the  other,  "are  the  Idlewilds  still 
at  Newport  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  they  have  a  cottage  for  the  summer, 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  l8/ 

—  Colonel  Patterson's  old  place  on  Leroy  Avenue. 
I  Ve  seen  a  good  deal  of  them." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  down  here  ? "  inquired 
Finchley,  after  a  little. 

"  About  four  weeks.  You  see  there 's  some  com 
pensation  for  being  a  briefless  barrister.  We  get 
more  time  to  play  the  butterfly."  Stoughton  spoke 
jocularly,  but  his  companion  might  have  noticed 
the  confusion  of  his  manner. 

"  I  see,"  said  Finchley,  dryly.  He  changed  the 
subject  to  stocks,  and  for  some  minutes  discoursed 
glibly  on  the  state  of  the  market. 

Stoughton  felt  puzzled  what  to  do.  Here  it  was 
past  midnight.  The  engagement  would  be  an 
nounced  in  the  morning,  and  everybody  would  know 
it.  There  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not  tell 
Finchley.  It  was  much  more  natural  he  should. 
Finchley  had  been  attentive  to  Miss  Idlewild,  he 
knew,  but  he  had  no  ground  for  suspecting  any 
thing  serious.  Besides,  if  there  was,  he  must  hear 
of  the  news  sooner  or  later. 

"  Look  here,  old  fellow,  let 's  have  another  drink." 
He  had  never  used  such  familiarity  with  the  broker 
before,  but  somehow  his  spirits  seemed  to  be  effer 
vescing  under  the  prospect  of  narrating  his  good 
fortune.  There  was  no  question  people  would 
think  him  immensely  to  be  envied.  "  There  's  some 
thing  I  want  to  tell  you.  I  Ve  had  a  big  slice  of 
happiness  put  to  my  account  to-day.  Two  more 
whiskey  colds,"  he  interjected  to  the  bar-keeper. 

"  Is  that  so  ?    Struck  a  bonanza  ? "  said  the  other, 


1 88  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

with  a  grim  effort  at  humor,  but  with  his  eyes  fas 
tened  on  the  speaker's  face. 

"  I  'm  engaged  to  be  married.  To  Miss  Idle- 
wild,"  he  added  by  way  of  explanation. 

"  To  Miss  Idlewild  ?  Well,  you  are  a  lucky  fel 
low,"  replied  Finchley,  quietly,  but  without  flinching. 
He  cast  about  his  eyes  as  if  in  search  of  some  vent 
for  his  feelings.  His  glance  fell  on  the  drinks,  which 
were  now  prepared.  He  reached  forward  and  seized 
his  glass.  "  Here 's  my  regards,  Stoughton  ;  you  're 
a  lucky  fellow,  a  damned  lucky  fellow,"  he  cried 
with  a  fierce  fervor,  and  he  drained  the  whiskey  to 
the  bottom.  "  How  much  is  it  ? "  he  asked  of  the 
bar-tender  with  a  frown,  and  he  tossed  a  silver  dol 
lar  on  the  counter  so  that  it  rang. 

"  Stop,  stop !  it 's  my  treat,  Finchley.  I  asked 
you  to  drink  with  me,"  exclaimed  Stoughton. 

"  No,  it 's  all  right ;  it 's  my  affair  ;  I  drank  with 
you  before ; "  but  Finchley  colored  with  annoyance. 
His  mechanical  action  must  have  betrayed  his  feel 
ings.  "How  long  have  you  been  engaged?"  he 
inquired  abruptly. 

Stoughton  was  a  little  nettled  by  the  imperti 
nence  of  the  question.  He  could  afford,  however, 
to  be  good-natured.  "  Only  a  short  time.  It  is  to 
be  announced  to-morrow,"  he  replied  quietly. 

"  Is  that  so  ? " 

"  I  shall  have  to  bid  you  good-night,  Finchley ; 
it 's  rather  late  for  an  engaged  man,"  said  Stough 
ton  festively,  looking  at  his  watch. 

The  other  had  lighted  a  cigar,  at  which  he  was 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  189 

puffing  vigorously.  "  All  right.  I  guess  I  sha'n't 
turn  in  just  yet.  .  I  want  a  smoke."  Finchley 
seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  a  side-table  front 
ing  the  counter,  which  the  bar-tender  was  polishing 
with  a  cloth.  The  latter  was  a  sallow,  drawn-out 
young  man,  without  a  shirt-collar,  and  arrayed  in  a 
soiled  linen  duster.  He  seemed  in  no  hurry  to 
bring  matters  to  a  close,  for,  after  having  finished 
his  occupation,  he  proceeded  to  pick  his  teeth  re 
flectively. 

"  Hot  in  New  York,  sir,  I  dare  say,"  he  observed 
by  way  of  conversation. 

"  Right  you  are,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"  Come  by  boat  to-night,  sir  ? " 

"  Cor-r-rect ! " 

There  was  something  trenchant  in  the  tone  of 
his  customer  which  doubtless  warned  this  seeker 
after  information  that  a  continuation  of  his  talka 
tive  vein  might  prove  dangerous.  At  any  rate  he 
relapsed  into  silence,  save  for  a  consolatory  low 
whistle,  to  the  melody  of  which  he  proceeded  to 
put  things  to  rights,  preparatory  to  closing  up.  He 
turned  out  all  the  lights  except  one  small  gas-jet. 
Revenge  was  here  simple  and  perhaps  justifiable. 
"  Time  to  close  the  bar,  sir." 

"  All  right."  Finchley  was  sitting  on  the  table 
with  his  legs  hanging  over,  sending  forth  now  and 
again  from  his  pursed-up  lips  wreaths  of  smoke. 
One  foot  swung  nervously  to  and  fro.  "  I  suppose 
there  's  no  way  of  getting  back  to  New  York  to 
night  ? " 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 


"  Nothing  till  to-morrow."  The  tables  were 
turned.  The  stranger  was  the  interrogator  now. 
But  the  victor,  either  generously  content  with  a 
short  triumph,  or  unable  to  resist  —  for  the  sake  of 
a  mere  sentimental  consideration,  like  pride  —  a 
chance  of  satisfying  his  propensity,  asked,  after  a 
pause,  "  Expecting  to  make  a  lengthy  stop,  sir  ?  " 

Finchley  made  no  reply.  He  passed  out  through 
the  corridors  on  to  the  piazza  again,  where  he 
walked  up  and  down  with  a  quick  tread.  He  did 
not  know  exactly  what  to  make  of  his  sensations. 
A  feeling  of  utter  misery,  as  if  —  in  the  language 
of  his  own  calling  —  the  bottom  had  dropped  out  of 
everything,  oppressed  him.  Little  accustomed  to 
analyze  his  impressions,  he  simply  gritted  his  teeth 
in  the  ecstasy  of  a  suffering  he  could  not  quite 
understand,  and  paced  the  platform  much  after  the 
method  of  a  wounded  animal  that  is  ignorant  of 
all  save  the  pain.  Life  seemed  a  void,  a  complete 
blank.  There  was  nothing  worth  having.  The 
handsome  profit  placed  to  his  account  the  past 
six  months,  on  a  lot  of  Western  bonds  which  his 
firm  had  floated  with  success,  no  longer  caused  him 
a  thrill  at  its  remembrance. 

He  stepped  off  the  piazza  and  wandered  along 
Bellevue  Avenue,  which  was  now  wrapped  in  silence. 
No  footfall  but  his  own  was  stirring.  On  either 
side  of  the  way,  through  a  vanguard  of  dusky  trees, 
handsome  cottages  slumbered  on  a  sea  of  glittering 
lawn  ;  for  the  moon  had  risen.  He  walked  rapidly, 
with  eyes  cast  on  the  ground.  He  was  scarcely 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  IQI 

aware  of  a  destination,  and  perhaps,  if  he  had  fully 
realized  whither  his  steps  were  tending,  would  have 
rebelled.  He  had  been  to  Newport  once  or  twice 
already  this  summer,  and  this  walk  was  familiar  to 
him.  Upon  reaching  a  corner  where  one  of  the 
side  streets  crosses  the  main  avenue,  he  turned 
down  the  same,  but  with  a  slackened  pace.  Close 
at  hand  rose,  clear  and  white  in  the  moonshine, 
a  stately  villa,  built  somewhat  in  the  style  of  an 
ancient  castle.  A  grove  of  chestnuts  shut  in  the 
front ;  but  there  was  a  skirting  of  box-hedge  upon 
the  side  of  the  grounds  that  bordered  the  cross 
road,  over  which  could  be  seen  fantastic  beds  of 
flowers,  and  further  away  a  tennis-court.  A  neatly 
gravelled  avenue  twisted  its  course  through  the 
lawn,  like  a  shining  snake. 

Finchley  stood  still.  The  well-known  sight  had 
brought  him  to  his  senses,  or  rather  opened  his 
eyes  more  significantly  to  the  sources  of  his  sor 
row.  He  sighed  heavily,  and,  glancing  up  at  the 
windows  for  an  instant,  turned- on  his  heel.  As  he 
reached  the  corner  of  the  avenue  again,  he  almost 
ran  upon  a  man  who  was  reeling  along  the  path, 
close  to  the  fence,  in  a  half-inebriated  condition. 

"  G'd  ev'ning.  Say,  boss,  ain't  you  got  some 
thing  for  a  poor  feller  ?  " 

Finchley  was  going  to  pass  on,  but  the  individual 
ran  out  in  front  of  him  with  a  beseeching,  cringing 
air.  He  was  a  meagre-faced,  dishevelled-looking 
wretch,  with  no  suggestion  of  the  highwayman 
about  him.  "  Just  a  thrifle,  boss." 


I Q2  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  money  this  time  of 
night  ? " 

"  Well,  boss,"  said  the  man,  with  a  gaunt  leer, 
and  a  huskiness  of  tone,  which  he  intended  to  be 
wheedling,  "  I  need  a  drink  awful  bad." 

There  was  something  of  pathos  in  the  appeal 
that  harmonized  with  Finchley's  mood.  Here  was 
another  fellow-being  as  miserable  as  himself,  per 
haps,  whose  sorrows  could  be  drowned  for  an  hour 
by  a  glass  of  poor  whiskey.  A  small  price  for 
happiness,  forsooth  !  And,  after  all,  were  not  the 
unconscious  delights  of  intoxication  paramount  to 
every  other  gratification  ?  No  recollection  of  bit 
terness  there !  Nothing  but  the  untrammelled 
spirit  floating  on  a  cloud.  He  reached  down  into 
his  pocket  and  drew  forth  a  handful  of  small  coins. 
In  their  midst  glistened  a  five-dollar  gold  bit,  fresh 
from  the  mint.  It  was  a  habit  with  Finchley  to 
carry  a  few  gold  pieces  about  with  him.  Perhaps 
their  daintiness  pleased  him,  or  he  thought  they 
gave  him  an  air  of  splendor.  He  tossed  the  coin 
in  question  to  the  beggar.  It  fell  on  the  ground 
with  a  chink  and  described  an  arc  into  the  gutter, 
from  which  the  unsteady  fingers  of  the  searcher 
presently  rescued  it. 

"  Heaven  bless  yer,  boss." 

"  That 's  all  right.  Go  and  get  drunk  now,  — 
roaring,  boiling  drunk,  mind.  Have  an  A-number- 
one  time  for  once  in  your  life."  And  Finchley 
strided  on  with  a  glowing  consciousness  of  having 
slapped  the  Angel  Gabriel's  face,  as  it  were.  He 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  193 

felt  at  odds  with  destiny  and  ripe  to  play  the  social 
iconoclast. 

His  dream  was  dissipated.  Not  that  it  had  been 
a  soaring  conception,  this  love  of  his  ;  but  the  fer 
vor  had  been  genuine  of  its  kind.  A  beautiful  girl 
at  the  head  of  his  table,  in  a  snug  little  house  be 
dizened  with  all  that  is  pretty  and  cosey, — a  soft, 
plump  cheek,  and  radiant  eyes  to  be  proud  of  at 
the  theatre,  or  the  supper  parties  he  would  give 
at  Delmonico's,  —  such  was  its  objective  end.  He 
had  money  enough,  and  she  would  have  millions 
some  day.  But  her  wealth  was  by  way  of  an  after 
thought.  What  had  been  ever  present  to  him  was 
the  subtle  tremor  of  excitement  which  her  presence 
evoked,  a  consciousness  that  was  strange  to  him, 
and  delightful  from  its  very  vagueness.  He  had 
lived,  so  to  speak,  from  hand  to  mouth  through  the 
years  of  his  youth,  with  but  one  idea  as  a  beacon, 
— the  necessity  of  becoming  rich.  He  had  taken 
existence  as  he  found  it.  He  had  practised  the 
commonplace  virtues  with  the  best  intention  ;  but, 
in  his  haste  and  absorption,  what  others  did  had 
been  good  enough  for  him.  His  world  had  been 
the  streets  of  New  York,  and  his  laws,  the  laws  of 
trade.  His  knowledge  of  what  was  outside  and 
beyond  was  but  superficial,  and  his  latter-day  efforts 
to  arrive  thereat  had,  as  we  already  know,  been 
stamped  with  an  ostentatious  vulgarity. 

The  advent  of  his  passion  scarcely  altered  his 
habits,  but  a  new  train  of  perceptions  had  been 
awakened  thereby.  A  certain  tenderness  of  na- 


IQ4  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

ture,  hitherto  unknown  to  him,  —  a  coarse-grained, 
clumsy  article,  to  be  sure,  but  still  a  reality,  —  had 
manifested  itself.  A  growing  conviction  of  the 
grossness  of  his  own  mode  of  life  had  stirred  under 
the  breath  of  love  and  been  slowly  fanned  to  a 
flame,  which,  though  not  prodigious,  might  have  suf 
ficed  in  time  to  keep  the  penates  warm.  Thoughts 
of  public  usefulness,  —  such  as  a  career  in  politics, 
—  that  had  been  before  merely  hazy  conceptions, 
assumed  the  form  of  distinct  ambitions.  This  new 
master  of  his  spirit  demanded  fealty,  and  he  had 
been  prepared  to  ratify  his  claims. 

But  now  it  was  all  over.  The  vision  had  van 
ished,  and  he  was  remanded  to  the  society  of  his 
old  companions.  As  the  truth  dawned  upon  him, 
he  experienced  the  repulsion  of  one  who  comes  out 
of  the  sunshine  into  an  apartment  stale  with  smoke 
and  lighted  by  gas.  He  had  never  realized  until 
this  moment  the  extent  to  which  his  interest  in 
Isabel  had  separated  him  from  the  past,  and  a  sense 
of  angry  grief,  mingled  with  despair,  kept  him 
tossing  on  his  couch  until  the  gray  of  morning. 


X. 


evening  late  in  the  following  winter,  Rem- 
ington  sat  sipping  his  coffee  after  dinner  at 
the  club,  which  had  become  a  favorite  resort  of  his. 
He  met  there  principally  men  who,  like  himself, 
had  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  a  university  educa 
tion.  It  was  there  that  he  had  become  more  alive 
to  the  feverish  energy  of  his  own  generation,  and  had 
grown  to  admire  the  ability  and  information  of  men 
who  were  but  a  few  years  older  than  himself.  Many, 
of  course,  were  to  be  found  there  who  were  simply 
votaries  of  pleasure,  —  mere  loungers,  who  read  the 
newspapers  and  played  cards  as  an  existence ;  but 
the  larger  portion  were  intelligent,  earnest-minded 
men,  who  came  thither  for  relaxation.  That  they 
were  an  ambitious,  hard-working  set  it  was  easy  to 
see  from  the  expression  of  their  faces,  and  from  the 
supineness  with  which  they  took  their  ease,  as  if 
they  could  not  feel  sure  of  ever  being  at  leisure 
again.  Shrewd  and  intelligent  in  matters  of  busi 
ness,  they  were  charmingly  versatile  in  moments 
of  recreation.  Many  of  them  had  travelled  abroad, 
and  the  conversation  to  be  heard  often  bore  the 
stamp  of  sense  and  cleverness.  Their  speech  was, 
however,  tinged  with  that  peculiar  ironical  humor 


196  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

common  to  all  classes  in  this  country,  against  which 
nothing  is  completely  sacred.  To  touch  serious 
topics  with  a  light  hand  was  there  a  custom  ;  and 
yet  they  loved  dearly  to  philosophize  after  dinner. 
For  the  rest,  their  dress  was  in  excellent  taste ; 
they  breakfasted  very  late  on  Sunday  mornings  ;  it 
was  uncommon  to  find  one  who  did  not  turn  to  the 
stock  quotations  before  anything  else  in  the  news 
paper;  and,  almost  unanimously,  they  inveighed 
against  the  political  debasement  of  the  country. 
There  were  many  who,  -though  young,  had  already 
acquired  reputation  in  their  callings,  and  yet  who 
delighted  in  company  to  scoff  at  ambition  and  harp 
upon  the  omnipotence  of  wealth. 

Upon  quitting  Bar  Harbor  eight  months  before, 
life  had  seemed  a  terrible  blank  to  Remington,  and 
the  wound  caused  by  Miss  Crosby's  refusal  had 
smarted  far  into  the  autumn.  His  love  had  been 
thoroughly  genuine,  and  the  sudden  extinction  of 
the  beacon  upon  which  his  eyes  had  rested  un 
waveringly  for  the  past  two  years  left  him  in  utter 
darkness.  His  catastrophe  with  Miss  Maud  Bolles 
sank  into  insignificance  beside  the  desperation  of 
this  really  heart-felt  grief.  After  the  edge  of  his 
suffering  became  so  far  blunted  as  to  permit  of 
rational  thought,  he  had  tried  to  analyze  the  situ 
ation,  but  without  much  comfort.  He  was  all  adrift 
as  to  Miss  Crosby's  feelings.  Speculation  as  to  his 
chances  of  success,  in  case  he  were  to  persevere,  left 
him  at  the  close  precisely  where  he  started  from. 

There  had  been  a  gradual  sequel  to  this  frame  of 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  197 

mind.  Her  refusal  had  been  decided :  oh,  yes,  per 
fectly  decided  ;  still  she  had  said  there  was  no  one 
else.  Perhaps  time  would  make  a  difference.  If 
he  went  to  work  and  showed  himself  worthy  of  her, 
she  might  come  to  like  him  some  day.  His  best 
plan  undoubtedly  would  be  to  neglect  her  for  a 
while.  He  had  heard  that  girls  miss  attentions  to 
which  they  have  become  accustomed,  and  that  a 
lover  has  much  more  chance,  if  he  fights  shy  of  one 
who  has  given  him  the  mitten.  Little  by  little  he 
began  to  take  more  interest  in  his  down-town  work. 
He  felt  that  he  ought  not  to  allow  his  scheme  of 
life  to  be  interfered  with  by  a  disappointment  of 
this  kind.  Marriage  was  only  an  incident  in  a 
man's  career ;  and  however  deplorable  it  might  be 
to  meet  with  disaster  where  hopes  had  been  gar 
nered  up,  despair  ought  not  to  be  permitted  to  en 
croach  too  far.  It  may  be,  too,  there  was  a  dash  of 
vengeance  in  his  industry.  He  would  like  to  dis 
tinguish  himself,  and  prove  to  Miss  Crosby  how 
much  she  had  lost  by  throwing  him  overboard. 
Girls  do  not  like  to  see  their  suitors  recover  from 
the  effects  of  a  somersault  too  easily.  If  she  could 
hear  that  he  was  able  to  be  so  diligent,  would  not  the 
sweetness  of  her  triumph  be  sensibly  diminished  ? 
But  the  concomitant  of  these  resolutions  had 
been  much  thoughtfulness  and  some  cynicism.  It 
pleased  him  to  represent  to  himself  that  a  material 
view  of  existence  was  the  most  satisfactory,  and 
that  love  was  only  a  delusion.  It  was  more  difficult 
to  remain  faithful  to  the  idealism  which  he  used  to 


198  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

woo  in  his  younger  days.  Modern  life,  with  its 
whirl  of  prosaic  business  cares  and  worldly  pleas 
ures,  reminded  him  of  a  country  road  in  midsum 
mer,  upon  which  a  pitiless  sun  pours  down,  where 
the  foliage  on  either  side  is  shabby  with  choking 
dust,  and  no  breeze  stirs.  He  lived  on  from  day  to 
day ;  he  enjoyed  himself  in  a  certain  measure,  but 
it  was  so  difficult  to  extract  from  existence  aught 
that  was  exhilarating  or  refreshing  to  that  inner 
sense  of  aspiration.  The  spiritual  oxygen  of  crea 
tion  seemed  to  have  become  exhausted,  and  the 
world  to  lie,  like  the  landscape  of  his  vision,  veiled 
in  depressing  dust. 

It  was  best  to  take  life  quietly  and  sensibly.  He 
enjoyed  his  profession,  and  he  had  the  means  to 
indulge  in  all  rational  amusements.  His  bachelor 
days  were  lapped  in  comfort,  if  he  would  but  look 
at  the  matter  philosophically.  Ah,  that  was  just 
what  he  did  do,  —  look  at  the  matter  philosophically  ! 
There  was  the  whole  difficulty.  It  was  the  phi 
losophy  of  life  which  lay  at  the  root  of  his  trouble. 
It  was  that  great  enigma  of  the  whence  and  the 
wherefore  and  the  whither,  rising  up  forever  in  his 
thoughts,  that  doomed  him  to  unrest.  Not  purely 
selfish  was  his  struggle  for  the  means  of  living  and 
the  meed  of  fame  ;  but  with  his  daily  work  was  min 
gled  a  desire  to  do  the  best  he  could,  to  contrib 
ute  his  mite  toward  the  solution  of  that  mystery 
which  he  could  never  expect  to  unravel.  Others 
were  working  around  him  in  the  same  spirit.  They 
toiled  until  the  flesh  was  weary,  and  then  they1 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  199 

drowned  fatigue  in  full-fledged  pleasure.  But  still 
it  was  a  hard  and  hueless  labor,  like  that  of  the 
mine,  unillumined  by  the  rays  of  a  warm  and  defi 
nite  inspiration.  It  was,  as  it  were,  a  standing  face 
to  face  with  fate,  the  heart  whispering  the  while, 
"  We  will  be  faithful,  but  we  have  no  hope." 
Whither  was  this  strife  of  humanity  tending  ?  Has 
the  world  advanced  in  the  drift  and  intensity  of  its 
aspirations  from  what  it  was  a  hundred  years  ago  ? 
Mankind  were  more  comfortable  now,  doubtless  ; 
they  understood  better  how  to  take  care  of  them 
selves,  to  ward  off  disease,  and  to  abbreviate  suffer 
ing  ;  but  did  the  spirit  that  animated  men's  breasts 
to-day  soar  above  the  cold  and  leaden  realities  of 
material  things  ?  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  him  as 
if  the  pioneers  of  human  intelligence  stood,  pick 
in  hand,  before  a  frowning  wall  through  which 
no  ray  penetrated ;  while  down  below,  on  the 
plains  from  whence  they  had  climbed,  seethed 
a  mass  of  struggling  beings  without  faith,  without 
aspirations,  the  keynote  of  whose  desperate  and 
envious  philosophy  was  to  destroy  those  who  were 
more  prosperous  than  themselves. 

And  yet,  with  changing  mood,  he  would  perhaps 
oftener  dwell  upon  the  sincerity  of  modern  labor, 
on  the  enthusiastic,  critical,  and  patient  temper  of 
research  in  all  fields,  the  stern  desire  for  truth 
at  every  cost.  This,  at  least,  was  the  attitude  of  a 
vast  contingent  of  intelligent,  sober-minded  men, 
who  neither  flaunted  in  society  nor  figured  in  the 
newspapers.  The  new  and  marvellous  inventions 


200  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

of  science,  the  countless  schemes  and  appliances 
for  the  bettering  of  the  condition  of  the  poor  and 
ignorant,  the  vast  foundations  for  the  spread  of 
knowledge,  alike  testified  to  the  danger  of  judging 
the  world's  core  by  the  pulsation  of  its  extremities. 
The  fashionable  whirl  and  socialistic  outcries  were 
but  as  the  chaff  upon  the  threshing- floor,  or  the 
sparks  from  the  grindstone. 

On  New  Year's  day  he  called  upon  Dorothy- 
She  was  not  at  home,  and  so  it  chanced  that  he 
scarcely  saw  her  all  winter.  They  had  exchanged  a 
few  words  at  parties ;  that  was  all.  But  Remington 
rarely  went  to  parties  now.  Indeed,  it  was  a  mat 
ter  of  comment  that  he  was  completely  changed. 
Miss  Lawton  declared,  as  he  shook  hands  with  her 
at  the  last  of  the  "  Late  and  Plentiful "  germans, 
that  she  had  hardly  laid  eyes  on  him  for  six  months. 
"I  hear  you  are  blast,  Mr.  Remington." 
"  Not  so  bad  as  that,  I  hope;  call  it  busy." 
The  only  person  of  the  other  sex  with  whom 
Remington  had  cultivated  an  intimacy  of  late  was 
Mrs.  Tom  Fielding.  He  had  got  into  the  way  of 
dropping  in  at  her  house  in  the  evening.  After 
coming  up  town  he  would  dress  himself,  dine  at 
the  club,  read  the  papers  for  half  an  hour,  and 
then,  if  he  did  not  play  whist  or  go  to  the  theatre, 
would  turn  his  steps  toward  her  door,  which  was 
only  a  block  distant.  He  had  found  her  an  ex 
tremely  agreeable  companion.  She  was  very  sym 
pathetic,  and  evinced  a  keen  interest  in  literary 
and  artistic  matters. 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  2OI 

The  early  part  of  the  winter,  Remington  had 
flattered  himself  that  male  society  sufficed  for  all 
his  needs  in  the  way  of  companionship.  He  had 
been  quite  content  to  establish  himself  with  his 
cigar  in  an  easy-chair,  and  chat  the  evening  away 
with  some  friend  at  the  club,  —  often  with  Lattimer, 
who  was  a  suggestive  spirit,  and  occasionally  with 
Ramsay  Whiting.  During  such  hours  time  took 
unto  itself  wings.  The  conversation,  beginning  with 
the  surroundings  and  the  current  gossip,  would 
branch  off  to  the  stock  market,  travel  by  short  stages 
from  politics  to  sociology,  and  finally  arrive  at  im 
mortality.  At  length  would  come  a  pause,  —  a 
reflective  draining  of  the  last  drops  of  the  beverage, 
as  if  there  were  an  expectation  of  catching  a  glimpse 
of  the  infinite  at  the  bottom  of  the  glass,  —  and 
that  glance  at  the  watch  which  accompanies  a 
return  to  consciousness. 

"  Another  drink  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  I  believe  not." 

Then  followed  the  struggle  back  into  his  ulster, 
and  the  stroll  in  the  cool  night  air  along  the  de 
serted  pavements.  He  would  glance  at  the  chaste 
stars,  and  feel  their  influence  probe  as  it  were  his 
unhealed  wound.  He  was  perfectly  happy  in  com 
munion  with  his  own  sex.  A  fig  for  the  society  of 
the  other ! 

That  had  been  two  months  ago  ;  but  to-night  he 
sat  stirring  his  coffee  in  the  pleasant  consciousness 
that  he  was  to  spend  the  evening  with  an  attractive 
woman,  —  one  who  was  intelligent  enough  to  under- 


2O2  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

stand  him,  and  clever  on  her  own  account  withal. 
He  glanced  at  the  clock  ;  it  was  later  than  usual,  for 
he  had  been  detained  at  the  office.  It  would  be  time 
to  go  in  a  few  minutes.  He  took  up  the  evening 
paper,  and  came  upon  Woodbury  Stoughton's  name 
as  a  newly  appointed  director  of  several  important 
concerns  in  which  his  father-in-law  held  a  control 
ling  interest.  He  had  not  seen  so  much  of  Wood- 
bury  since  his  marriage.  Their  pursuits  and  ideas, 
too,  seemed  less  in  common  than  formerly ;  though 
he  now  and  then  dropped  in  to  dinner  at  his  friend's 
beautiful  house.  Stoughton  was  much  absorbed  in 
his  career  at  Albany,  and  since  the  caucus  he  and 
Remington  had  by  tacit  consent  avoided  conversing 
about  politics.  Isabel  appeared  happy.  She  was 
looking  very  handsome  since  her  marriage,  and  had 
been  a  good  deal  into  society. 

Remington  had  the  Stoj.ightons  in  his  mind  as 
he  donned  his  overcoat  and  walked  up  the  street. 
There  was  a  tinge  of  envy  to  his  thought  concern 
ing  them.  After  all,  Woodbury  had  shown  himself 
a  level-headed  fellow.  His  friend  seemed  somehow 
always  to  fall  on  his  feet.  He  had  married  a  beautiful 
girl,  and  acquired  with  her  a  pot  of  money.  That 
might  just  as  well  have  happened  to  him.  Why 
had  n't  it  ?  He  was  sacrificing  his  welfare  to  a  mere 
sentiment.  There  were  plenty  of  girls  in  New  York 
just  as  attractive  as  Miss  Crosby,  if  he  would  only 
choose  to  look  at  the  matter  without  prejudice. 

And  yet  this  wavering  on  his  own  part  annoyed 
him.  He  felt  ashamed  of  himself  for  harboring  the 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  203 

possibility  of  a  doubt  regarding  the  wisdom  of  his 
choice.  He  had  always  believed  his  attachment  for 
Miss  Crosby  to  be  of  the  deepest  kind,  and  yet 
of  late  he  had  constantly  caught  himself  put 
ting  his  hand  on  his  heart,  as  it  were,  to  see  if 
it  were  beating  with  sufficient  intensity,  which 
reminded  him  of  children  digging  up  seeds  that 
they  have  planted,  to  find  out  whether  they  are 
growing. 

Mrs.  Fielding  greeted  him  with  cordiality.  She 
was  very  grateful  to  him  for  coming,  she  said,  as  she 
was  all  alone  and  rather  low-spirited.  Her  husband 
had  gone  to  the  meeting  of  some  philanthropic 
society.  He  was  wrapped  up  in  model  tenement 
houses  and  other  schemes  to  better  the  condition 
of  the  poor.  She  was  just  reading  the  proofs  of  a 
report  regarding  co-operative  housekeeping  that 
Mr.  Fielding  had  written.  Would  he  like  to  look 
at  them  ? 

Remington  took  the  sheets  from  her  hand  and  ran 
his  eye  over  them.  "  I  often  wonder,"  he  said,  "  if 
the  poor  are  really  more  unhappy  than  the  well-to- 
do.  Except  in  the  case  of  actual  suffering  from  cold 
or  hunger,  their  very  necessity  to  work  without  stop 
ping  to  think  must  be  in  a  certain  sense  a  relief. 
The  responsibility  of  choice  is  removed  from  them  ; 
or  rather  their  only  choice  is  between  unceasing 
labor  and  starvation." 

"  I  should  prefer  to  starve." 

"  Perhaps,  with  your  experience  of  something 
different.  But  the  sweetness  of  toil  has  ever  been 


204  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

proverbial.  I,  for  one,  can  testify  to  the  gratifica 
tion  of  feeling  at  night  the  emotionless  fatigue  of 
the  clown.  Are  you  altogether  certain  that  the 
liberty  to  split  hairs  with  one's  consciousness  is  to 
be  esteemed  a  boon  ?  " 

"  That  is,"  she  asked  in  soft  tones,  without  look 
ing  up  from  her  embroidery,  "  you  regard  the  prob 
lem  of  existence  as  too  complex  for  the  highly 
evolved  brain  ?  It  is  preferable,  you  think,  to  be 
body-tired  than  mind-tired?" 

"  My  remark  was  in  the  form,  of  a  question 
simply.  Is  it  preferable  to  beat  iron  and  brass  or 
to  beat  the  air  ?  The  artisan  works  for  bread  and 
meat,  but  what  are  you  and  I  working  for, —  what 
are  we  seeking  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  often  thought  of  that." 

"  Look  back  a  thousand,  two  thousand  years,  and 
what  more  do  we  know  to-day  concerning  the  pur 
pose  of  existence  ?  Centuries  ago,  men  loved  and 
laughed,  and  toiled  and  slept,  and  ate*  and  mourned, 
and  finally  they  died.  That  is  what  mankind  are 
doing  now.  The  world  is  a  pleasanter  place  to  live 
in,  perhaps.  We  have  discovered  how  to  exist  more 
comfortably.  We  have  learned,  from  experience, 
that  wars  and  dirt  and  polygamy  and  unwholesome 
food  diminish  the  happiness  of  the  individual.  We 
no  longer  burn  our  brethren  at  the  stake  because 
they  do  not  chance  to  agree  with  us,  and  we  are 
able  to  communicate  by  word  of  mouth  with  those 
who  are  distant  hundreds  of  miles.  But  what  more 
have  we  grasped  concerning  the  mystery  of  life  ? 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  2O$ 

What  has  the  nineteenth  century  to  say  to  you  and 
me,  who  have  food  to  eat  and  clothes  to  wear  ?  " 

"  Better  food  and  more  clothes/'  she  answered, 
with  a  laugh.  She  was  silent  a  minute,  and,  taking 
from  the  table  a  fan,  moved  mechanically  to  and 
fro  its  mother-of-pearl  sticks,  which  were  edged 
with  white  fluff.  "  You  think,  then,  religion  is  an 
excellent  thing  for  the  masses,  but  that  it  is  out  of 
date  for  you  and  me  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  With  the  advent  of  greater 
intelligence  we  have,  to  be  sure,  become  exempt 
from  the  delusion  and  superstition  which  victimizes 
many  others.  We  know  that  prayer  will  not  save 
the  life  of  a  man  wounded  in  a  particular  spot,  and 
that  human  beings  inherit  their  dispositions.  But 
however  much  we  may  grope  and  wonder,  every 
man  is  forced  at  last  back  upon  himself,  it  seems 
to  me.  We  cannot  escape  our  own  characters  ; 
and,  despite  logical  demonstration  to  the  contrary, 
we  cling  to  a  belief  that  we  are  responsible  for  our 
actions." 

He  paused  a  moment.  "  Go  on,"  she  said,  glanc 
ing  up  at  him.  "  I  want  to  hear  you  through." 

"There  is  not  much  to  say,"  he  answered;  but 
he  added  that  one  tired  of  trying  to  unravel  the 
mysteries  of  living  and  sought  refuge  in  action. 
There,  at  least,  however  difficult  the  path  might  be, 
it  was  tolerably  plain.  It  was  possible  to  distin 
guish  between  evil  and  good,  between  what  is 
hurtful  to  society  and  the  reverse.  Unintelligible 
and  bewildering  as  creation  seemed  as  a  whole,  one 


206  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

was  never  at  a  loss  as  to  the  value  of  proximate 
conduct.  "  There  are  two  things  in  life  that  seem 
to  me  certain,"  he  said  :  "  one  is  that  no  man  can 
be  completely  happy  ;  the  other,  that  t'he  greatest 
chance  of  happiness  lies  in  ohedience  to  the  prompt 
ings  of  one's  own  conscience.  The  world  found 
that  secret  out  ages  ago,  and  it  has  outlived  all 
philosophies." 

Mrs.  Fielding  was  silent  a  moment.  "  And  you 
mean,"  she  said,  "  that  it  is  more  difficult  for  people 
who  enjoy  the  so-called  advantages  of  life  to  ap 
preciate  this  ? " 

"  Yes ;  for,  being  free  from  the  superstitions  that 
influence  the  ignorant,  they  are  more  susceptible 
to  the  arguments  of  materialism,  from  their  very 
ability  to  make  discriminations  and  reason  from 
cause  to  effect." 

"  We  have  to  give  up  more,  too,  if  we  obey  our 
consciences,"  she  said.  Remington  noticed  that 
she  held  her  lace  handkerchief  by  the  tips,  and  was 
twisting  it  round  and  round. 

"  Indeed  we  do.  The  thing  we  have  to  renounce 
is  often  so  essential  to  happiness  as  to  make  the  bar 
which  separates  us  from  it  seem  very  shadowy." 

"  Do  you  ever  feel  like  that  ?  "  She  glanced  up 
quickly  as  she  spoke.  "  I  mean  —  that  is,"  she 
continued,  with  some  confusion,  "  do  things  affect 
you  so  strongly  ?  " 

Remington  smiled.  "You  think  me,  then,  inca 
pable  of  intensity  ?  " 

"  No,  not  that.    I  did  n't  mean  that,  of  course." 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  2O/ 

She  looked  into  distance  a  moment,  then  turned 
her  eyes  toward  the  floor.  "  I  suppose  I  was  sur 
prised  to  think  any  one  could  be  as  unhappy  as  I 
have  been." 

Remington  was  aware  that  she  was  conscious  he 
knew  her  story,  and  remained  silent.  He  knew, 
also,  that  they  were  friends,  and  felt  that  this  con 
fidence  on  her  part  was  somehow  as  the  act  of  one 
who  is  groping  in  the  dark  and  seeks  a  helping 
hand. 

"  At  least  you  have  conquered,  —  lived  down 
your  sorrow,"  he  said  presently,  with  the  lack  of 
appositeness  of  one  at  loss  for  a  reply. 

"  Have  I  ? "  she  replied,  with  a  tremor  of  the 
voice.  She  passed  her  hand  hastily  across  her  eyes. 
"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  happy,  quite  happy.  You  must  not 
think  I  am  not,  Mr.  Remington.  Only,  you  see," 
and  there  were  tears  in  her  tone  despite  her  effort 
to  control  herself,  "  when  you  spoke  of  it  all  in  such 
a  calm,  analyzing  way,  as  if  faith  were  something  to 
be  accepted  or  not,  just  as  one  preferred,  I  could  n't 
help  wondering  if  you  had  ever  known  what  it  is  to 
care  intensely  for  something  that  was  forbidden 
you.  A  woman  needs  more  than  a  code  of  morals, 
more  than  the  husk  of  a  belief  to  cling  to.  It  must 
be  real  and  burning  and  a  part  of  her  life  ;  for  there 
are  moments  when,  if  it  were  otherwise  — "  She 
paused  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  "  And 
yet  you  all  say  religion  is  but  a  convention, — a 
superstition." 

Remington   leaned    forward    and    touched    her 


208  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

shoulder.  "  No,  no,  my  friend,  you  misunderstood 
me,  —  I  did  not  say  that ;  I  —  " 

The  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  entry  interrupted 
his  words,  and  the  young  woman  scarcely  had  time 
to  rouse  herself  from  her  position  before  the  por 
tiere  was  drawn  aside  and  the  servant  announced 
Mr  Woodbury  Stoughton.  For  an  instant  the 
latter  stood  as  if  surprised  at  the  encounter.  Per 
haps,  too,  through  Remington's  mind  passed  the 
thought  that  the  key  to  the  confession  he  had 
just  heard  was  at  hand ;  for  were  not  those  words 
"convention"  and  "superstition"  corner-stones  in 
the  oft-listened-to  philosophy  of  his  quondam 
friend  ?  But  Mrs.  Fielding,  veiling  her  coun 
tenance  behind  the  mask  that  is  part  of  the  ward 
robe  of  every  clever  woman,  advanced  with  her 
head  poised  on  one  side,  and  a  cordial  greeting. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Stoughton." 


XI. 


T  ENT  was  come  again.  It  was  late  this  year, 
-*— '  — so  much  so,  in  fact,  that  even  the  most 
exuberant  of  party-goers  heard  the  Ash-Wednes 
day  chimes  with  a  sense  of  relief.  The  season  had 
been  very  gay.  Some  people  ascribed  the  number 
of  festivities  to  the  circumstance  that  every  one 
felt  well  off.  There  were  others  who  declared  that 
whereas,  last  winter,  a  large  sprinkling  of  society 
was  in  mourning,  this  year  nobody  worth  mention 
ing  had  died.  At  all  events,  the  caterers,  hack- 
men,  florists,  and  reporters,  who,  it  may  be  said, 
constitute  the  supes  of  the  social  stage,  announced 
that  there  had  been  more  going  on  than  during  any 
season  in  the  course  of  their  long  professional 
experience. 

Among  those  who  listened  to  the  harbingers 
of  the  holy  period  with  satisfaction  was  Dorothy 
Crosby.  To  begin  with,  she  was  used  up  ;  and 
then,  too,  she  felt  low  in  her  mind,  and  in  need 
of  leisure  to  collect  her  thoughts.  She  had  re 
ceived  a  vast  amount  of  attention.  People  had 
discovered  her  talent  for  making  herself  agreeable, 
and  she  had  suffered  the  usual  penalty  thereof. 

14 


2IO  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

The  winter  had  been,  on  the  whole,  even  more 
delightful  to  her  than  the  preceding  one ;  more 
delightful,  and  yet  different.  The  first  had  been 
attractive  on  the  score  of  dazing  novelty  and  the 
gradual,  surprised  discovery  of  her  own  powers  ; 
but  her  very  familiarity  with  the  ways  of  society  had 
made  the  recent  months  seem  peculiarly  charming. 
She  felt  herself  at  home,  and  saw  things  with  her 
eyes  open,  which  was  quite  as  entrancing  an  optic 
condition,  in  its  way,  as  the  prismatic  vertigo  that 
turns  the  head  of  the  debutante.  It  was  delightful 
to  be  invited  to  the  most  select  and  charming  en 
tertainments,  to  be  sought  for  more  dances  than 
there  were  to  bestow,  to  be  the  recipient  of  what 
Pauline  Lawton  called  "  floral  tributes," —  to  be 
conscious,  in  short,  that  people  liked  you.  She 
had  enjoyed  it  all  intensely,  and^she  had  let  herself 
go  and  be  borne  along  by  the  impetus  of  the  whirl. 
She  had  scarcely  tried  to  think.  There  had  been 
no  time  to  think. 

She  sat  at  her  desk  this  morning,  however,  with 
tear-stained  eyes.  She  had  been  weeping  much 
during  the  night ;  and  now,  as  she  pressed  her  little 
signet-ring  with  a  stubborn  emphasis  upon  the  seal 
of  the  note  she  had  just  finished,  she  gave  vent 
once  more  to  a  convulsive  sob.  Unhappy  to  relate, 
she  had  undergone  a  dreadful  scene  with  her  mother 
the  evening  before.  Mrs.  Crosby  had  heard,  with  a 
stony  silence  which  sought  relief  at  last  in  a  stormy, 
watery  rage,  Dorothy's  announcement  of  having 
declined  Ramsay  Whiting's  offer  of  marriage.  The 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  2 1  I 

maternal  plans  had  been  sadly  upset  by  this  un 
expected  announcement.  To  be  sure,  Dorothy,  if 
questioned,  had  always  betrayed  indifference  re 
garding  the  young  millionnaire  ;  but  Mrs.  Crosby 
had  flattered  herself  that  when  it  came  to  the  ac 
tual  point  the  girl  would  have  too  much  sense  to 
throw  away  such  a  brilliant  chance.  If  there  had 
been  anything  against  Mr.  Whiting,  it  would  have 
been  different ;  but  here  he  was,  an  irreproachable 
parti,  —  kind,  high-principled,  and  a  gentleman,  so 
every  one  said,  —  and  evidently  very  much  in  love 
with  Dorothy. 

"  I  should  not  have  said  a  word,"  Mrs.  Crosby 
continued  to  argue,  "  were  there  any  one  else  in 
the  way.  If  you  were  in  love  with  anybody  else, 
Dorothy,  I  could  understand  your  reason  for  refus 
ing  this  young  man  ;  but,  as  it  stands,  your  conduct 
is  inexplicable.  You  did  the  same  thing  last  sum 
mer  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Remington,  whom  you  pro 
fessed  to  like.  Do  you  expect  an  angel  to  come 
down  out  of  the  sky  for  your  especial  benefit  ? " 

"No,  mamma,"  said  Dorothy,  too  much  overcome 
by  the  anguish  of  her  emotions  to  realize  that  this 
last  interrogatory  scarcely  required  an  answer. 

"You  certainly  have  given  him  encouragement 
lately,"  Mrs.  Crosby  went  on  to  observe.  "  You 
have  accepted  his  flowers  and  gone  to  walk  with 
him  repeatedly.  I  should  think  he  would  consider 
you  had  treated  him  very  badly." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  how  can  you  ? "  and  the  culprit 
burst  into  renewed  sobs.  "  I  never  wore  any  of  his 


212  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

flowers,  and  —  and  I  declined  several  of  his  invita 
tions  to  go  to  walk,  on  purpose  —  when  I  wanted 
to  go." 

The  tears  flowed  apace.  Despite  her  protesta 
tions,  a  lurking  sense  of  guilt  had  already  been 
embittering  the  natural  discomfort  one  feels  at 
being  obliged  to  cause  another  pain  ;  and  these 
allusions  on  the  part  of  her  mother  were  like  so 
many  knife-thrusts.  Struggle  as  she  would,  the 
dreadful  truth  stared  her  in  the  face,  that  she  had 
let  things  go  on  with  but  little  concern  as  to  the 
consequences.  She  had  accepted  Mr.  Whiting's 
attentions  smilingly,  allowed  him  to  send  her 
costly  roses,  and  promenaded  with  him  in  retired 
neighborhoods,  without  a  momentary  idea  of  ever 
marrying  him.  His  devotion  meant  nothing  be 
yond  gallantry,  —  so  she  persuaded  herself.  A 
great  many  men  did  send  flowers  without  serious 
intentions.  Nor  was  it  much  consolation  now  to 
reflect  that  she  had  been  so  far  on  her  guard  as  to 
assume  a  cold  demeanor  on  several  occasions  when 
Mr.  Whiting's  manner  had  been  especially  intense. 
She  had  persuaded  herself  that  such  manifest  signs 
as  not  wearing  his  flowers  in  her  bosom,  and  limit 
ing  her  walks  with  him  to  once  a  fortnight,  were 
ample  to  show  a  discerning  man  —  if  by  any  chance 
he  happened  to  be  in  earnest — that  a  successful 
issue  to  his  suit  was  out  of  the  question.  How 
dreadfully  it  all  made  her  feel  now  !  She  had  simply 
been  "  whipping  the  devil  round  the  stump."  And 
then,  too,  she  had  told  Mr.  Whiting,  in  response  to 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  213 

his  avowal  of  love,  that  she  had  never  supposed  he 
could  possibly  be  in  earnest. 

A  night's  reflection  had  not  brought  much  relief. 
But  despite  her  prostration,  she  had  just  completed 
an  answer  to  an  impassioned  note  from  her  admirer, 
found  beside  her  breakfast  plate,  begging  a  recon 
sideration  of  her  resolve,  in  which  she  had  informed 
him,  kindly  but  firmly,  that  under  no  circumstances 
whatever  would  it  be  possible  for  her  to  accept  his 
offer.  When  she  had  sent  the  note  her  feelings  got 
the  better  of  her,  and  she  broke  down  completely. 
Not,  for  a  moment,  that  she  regretted  her  decision. 
She  had  never  wavered,  either  at  the  time  of  Mr. 
Whiting's  declaration  or  subsequently.  Still,  her 
sensations  were  far  from  satisfactory.  It  was  not  al 
together  clear  to  her  why  she  had  refused  him.  She 
liked  Mr.  W7hiting  very  much,  —  very  much  indeed. 
But  then,  she  did  not  love  him.  No,  that  was  cer 
tain  ;  she  did  not  love  him  the  least  bit  in  the  world. 
Still,  she  did  not  love  anybody.  And  the  worst  of 
it  was,  there  seemed  to  be  no  chance  of  her  grow 
ing  to  love  anybody.  She  thought  of  what  her 
mother  had  said  about  the  angel.  She  must  be 
very  heartless  and  cold  to  be  indifferent  to  so 
much  devotion.  Poor  Mr.  Whiting  really  seemed 
very  fond  of  her.  Of  course  she  would  n't  be  able 
to  tell  a  soul.  It  would  be  hateful,  having  to  keep 
it  all  to  herself.  Florence  Lawton  would  guess  in 
a  minute  what  had  happened  from  a  cessation  of 
his  attentions  ;  but  honor  required  her  to  say  noth 
ing,  even  to  her.  Mr.  Whiting  would  probably 


214  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

not  speak  to  her  again  at  parties  for  a  long  time, 
and  she  liked  him  so  much.  Mr.  Remington,  too, 
had  been  almost  rude  lately,  —  he  was  so  offish. 
If  he  wished  to  avoid  her,  he  was  welcome  to,  for 
all  she  cared.  He  was  not  as  nice  as  he  used 
to  be. 

It  was  about  eight  months  since  that  final  inter 
view  at  Bar  Harbor  with  Mr.  Remington.  How 
miserable  she  had  felt  afterwards  !  It  had  seemed 
as  if  there  were  a  sort  of  void  in  her  life  that  could 
not  be  filled.  But  at  least  she  had  experienced 
then  no  consciousness  of  blame.  She  had  not 
unduly  encouraged  her  first  lover.  That  was  all 
over  now.  Of  course  it  was  all  over!  She  had 
told  Mr.  Remington  at  the  time  that  anything 
stronger  than  friendship  between  them  was  an 
impossibility.  She  had  seen  but  very  little  of  him 
this  winter.  How  fast  the  winter  had  slipped 
away  !  It  had  been  delightful.  Yet,  looking  back, 
there  was  something  unsatisfactory  in  the  remi 
niscence.  No,  she  had  enjoyed  herself.  It  might 
have  been  unprofitable,  but  she  could  not  regret 
the  happiness  she  had  known. 

Still,  in  spite  of  her  lack  of  time  to  reflect,  her 
ideas  had  changed  very  much  since  a  year  ago. 
She  was  older,  and  the  world  no  longer  seemed  the 
bright,  poetic  place  it  used.  She  had  become  alive 
to  its  grimness  and  practicality.  If  any  one  had 
told  her,  last  winter,  that  she  would  grow  to  be  such 
a  callous  being,  she  would  have  ridiculed  the  notion. 
Existence  was  not  easy  for  women.  What  a  feeble, 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  215 

insignificant  part,  after  all,  those  in  her  condition 
played  in  the  struggle  of  life  !  How  little  oppor 
tunity  they  had  of  understanding  its  real  workings ! 
They  were  so  hedged  about  by  conventions,  they 
could  only  catch  a  glimpse  of  that  which  actually 
took  place  in  the  world.  They  had  to  be  depen 
dent  for  information  on  what  men  saw  fit  to  tell 
them  ;  and  were  they  not  victims  of  delusion  in 
consequence  ?  It  was  a  tacit  matter  of  honor  with 
the  other  sex  not  to  undeceive  their  credulity. 
Certain  opinions  and  conditions  of  affairs  were  to 
be  assumed  as  true  in  their  presence,  which  every 
man  believed  to  be  false.  Religion  and  babies  are 
all  they  need  to  make  them  happy,  and  we  will 
humor  them  in  their  innocent  theories  regarding 
life  as  it  is ;  such  was  the  attitude  of  husbands 
and  fathers  and  brothers. 

Whatever  one  might  say,  woman  was  undoubt 
edly  the  inferior  of  man  in  countless  ways.  In 
physique  and  intellectual  qualities  there  was  a  wide 
divergence  between  them.  There  was  a  sort  of 
pettiness  about  her  sex  that  was  foreign  to  man. 
This  proceeded  from  the  nature  of  her  occupations, 
—  so  she  had  heard  said  ;  but,  whatever  its  origin, 
it  existed.  She  was  conscious  of  it  herself.  The 
feminine  mind  worked  differently.  Woman  was 
barred  by  her  very  organism  from  the  same  pro 
cesses  of  thought.  She  could  discern  in  her  own 
case  how  susceptible  she  was  to  the  influence  of 
imagination  and  the  feelings,  and  how  largely  her 
reason  was  in  subjection  thereto.  This,  as  she  had 


2l6  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

read  and  been  told,  was  owing  to  the  peculiar  struc 
ture  of  her  nervous  system.  She  had  been  fash 
ioned  by  Nature  for  certain  functions,  and  she 
must  be  content  therewith. 

Nature,  how  strange  a  thing  this  Nature  was  ! 
There  were  those  who  argued  that  woman  had 
come  to  be  what  she  was  to-day  simply  through  an 
arbitrary  division  of  labor,  carried  on  through  long 
centuries.  The  original  differences  between  men 
and  women  had  been  comparatively  slight,  but 
these  had  been  widened  and  intensified  from  age 
to  age  by  the  character  of  the  occupations  of  the 
respective  sexes.  The  inferiority  of  woman  was 
mainly  the  result  of  the  part  she  had  played  in  an 
artificial  social  system,  of  the  suppression  and  ill- 
usage  to  which  she  had  been  subjected  in  the  past. 
Now  that  society  had  come  to  recognize  its  in 
justice,  it  was  for  the  members  of  the  so-called 
weaker  sex  to  train  those  faculties  that  most  needed 
development. 

And  yet,  if  one  thought  of  rebellion,  or  a  devia 
tion  from  the  beaten  path,  how  repulsive  the  pros 
pect  was  !  She  recoiled  instinctively  from  all  ideas 
of  invading  man's  province  and  assimilating  what 
was  masculine.  All  such  endeavors  seemed  abhor 
rent  to  her  very  being.  She  could  not  but  call  to 
mind  the  unpleasing  qualities  of  the  female  advo 
cates,  of  a  change  in  the  status  of  women  with 
whom  she  was  acquainted.  If  there  was  one  thing 
in  life  she  esteemed  precious,  it  was  the  innate  deli 
cacy  which  caused  her  to  shrink  from  what  was 


AN   AVERAGE  MAN.  21 7 

rough  and  common.  It  seemed  to  her  that  exter 
nal  charm  and  loveliness  were  the  complement 
of  refinement  of  spirit,  and  that  they  should  walk 
hand  in  hand.  One  'could  not  exist  in  complete 
ness  without  the  other.  Was  there  not  a  depend 
ence  between  the  graceful  figure,  the  snow-white 
arm,  and  the  soft  tones  of  the  voice,  and  nobility 
and  purity  of  thought  and  desire  ?  With  the  loss 
of  finish  and  elegance  would  come  a  diminution  in 
the  quality  of  those  exquisite  aspirations  which  are 
peculiar  to  the  feminine  disposition.  Inclined  as 
she  might  be  to  cavil  against  Nature  for  having 
made  the  sphere  of  her  sex  so  limited,  she  felt  an 
intuitive  hostility  toward  everything  that  would 
conduce  to  sully  or  impair  her  womanliness.  Was 
it  not  better  to  be  true  to  her  native  tendencies, 
and  to  fulfil  the  part  she  was  fitted  to  play,  even  if 
it  were  a  secondary  one  ? 

Her  part !  What  was  that  part  ?  It  was  indeed 
difficult  to  say.  There  appeared  to  be  so  little  need 
of  her  in  the  world  ;  or  rather,  perhaps,  it  was  that 
the  employments  of  her  life  were  so  petty.  The 
small  household  cares,  the  unheroic  round  of  social 
duties,  even  the  studies  that  she  sedulously  pur 
sued,  were  all  lacking  in  inspiration.  Her  days 
(full  enough,  and  still  so  empty)  seemed  to  glide 
on  without  much  profit  to  herself  or  anybody  else. 
And  yet  it  was  all  she  could  do,  —  all  that  there 
was  for  her  to  do.  She  intended  during  this  Len 
ten  season  to  visit  more  regularly  the  poor  families 
who  had  been  placed  under  her  supervision  by  the 


2l8  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

charitable  association  with  which  she  was  con 
nected.  How  far  removed  she  was  from  these 
poor  wretches  !  Was  it  possible  that  a  just  and 
omniscient  God  had  given  her  so  many  comforts, 
and  them  so  much  suffering  ?  How  ungrateful  she 
was  for  the  blessings  that  had  been  bestowed  upon 
her! 

In  her  faith,  at  least,  there  was  comfort.  There 
she  could  find,  there  she  did  find,  an  answer  to  her 
questionings.  It  was  God's  will  that  she  was  ful 
filling ;  and,  however  humdrum  or  thorny  the  path, 
she  would  pursue  it  steadfastly,  and  without  repin 
ing.  The  transports  of  worship  appealed  to  the 
sensibilities  of  her  nature.  The  mysterious  but 
precious  yearnings  that  she  felt  for  something 
upon  which  to  expend  the  wealth  of  her  being, 
sought  a  focus  in  the  religion  of  Christ.  Her 
impulses  toward  tenderness  and  purity  found  com 
fort  and  quickening  in  the  ecstasies  of  spiritual 
exaltation. 

Under  the  influence  of  such  feelings  she  went 
much  to  church  during  this  Lenten  period.  She 
liked  to  go  best  of  all  in  the  gray  of  the  afternoon, 
when  the  recesses  of  the  church  which  she  attended 
grew  dim  in  the  waning  light,  and  the  last  rays  of 
the  winter  sun,  struggling  through  the  stained  win 
dow,  flickered  on  the  chancel's  pavement.  Her 
spirit  reached  out  in  emotional  desire  to  live  more 
worthily,  and  she  seemed  to  derive  consolation  and 
stimulus  from  this  intimate  communion  with  the 
unseen.  The  mystic  philosophy  of  the  mortifica- 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  2 19 

tion  of  self  in  the  divine  love,  with  its  symbol  of  a 
deified  Christ  atoning  for  the  sins  of  men,  stirred 
her  heart  to  a  tender  pathos. 

And  yet  there  were  times  when  the  mysteries  of 
her  creed  caused  her  to  doubt  and  question.  Even 
in  moments  of  ardent  worship,  it  was  rather  the 
sense  of  blessedness  —  touching  her  spirit  as  with 
the  brush  of  an  angel's  wing — that  appealed  to 
her,  than  any  definite  realization  of  evangelical  doc 
trines.  The  meaning  of  much  that  she  heard  from 
the  pulpit  concerning  the  precise  articles  of  ortho 
doxy  seemed  vague  to  her.  She  contented  herself 
at  first  with  slurring  over  these  perplexities  as  non- 
essentials  of  faith.  Such  a  posture  was,  however, 
an  impossibility  for  long  to  an  honest  nature,  and 
to  Dorothy's  keen  mind  the  attainment  of  truth 
was  indispensable  to  repose.  It  was  her  desire 
to  escape  the  stricture  so  often  passed  upon  her 
sex,  of  unreasoning  fealty  to  superstition.  Here, 
at  least,  she  sympathized  with  the  movement  to 
cultivate  the  feminine  intelligence.  Women  had 
ceased  to  be  dolls  and  playthings.  Society  was 
ripe  for  their  efforts  to  understand  the  serious  prob 
lems  of  humanity.  The  influence  of  her  sex  in 
moulding  the  character  of  the  young  ought  to  be 
borne  in  mind,  and  it  was  the  duty  of  each  one  to 
seek  to  be  able  to  grasp  and  criticise  the  newest 
thoughts  concerning  life.  She  had  herself  a  keen 
interest  in  what  the  world  was  thinking  about,  and 
the  taste  for  knowledge  which  she  had  cultivated 
at  school  had  increased  with  her  years.  It  was  her 


220  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

principle  to  probe  everything  to  the  bottom,  so  far 
as  she  was  able,  in  her  desire  for  truth. 

But  still  —  despite  a  gradual  shattering,  in  her 
eyes,  of  the  conventional  conception  of  a  personal 
Deity — she  scarcely  faltered  at  heart  concerning 
the  responsibility  of  life  and  her  sense  of  de 
pendence  on  a  higher  power.  Even  in  her  most 
grievous  moments  of  mystification  regarding  the 
doctrines  of  the  Church  creed,  the  belief  that  there 
was  a  divine  purpose  in  human  existence  never 
deserted  her.  As  she  knelt  at  her  bedside  with 
clasped  hands,  looking  up  to  meet  the  heavenly 
influence,  the  conviction  that  this  life  was  not 
everything,  and  that  there  would  be  an  answer  to 
it  somewhere,  stirred  her  bosom  with  a  strange 
potency.  Nor  did  the  argument  of  the  sceptics  — 
that  this  feeling  was  but  the  momentum  of  ances 
tral  superstition,  which  in  a  few  generations  would 
wear  away  —  seem  to  her  as  worthy  of  an  instant's 
consideration.  There  must  be  a  purpose  in  all  this 
vast,  throbbing  world.  There  must  be  some  better 
response  than  annihilation  to  all  the  love  and  all 
the  suffering  of  the  centuries.  It  would  be  so 
unjust,  so  cruel,  otherwise ;  and  one  who  had  seen 
her  sweet,  earnest  face  and  glistening  eyes  at  such 
a  moment  would  have  whispered  an  Amen  to  her 
faith. 

It  was  under  the  influence  of  such  reflections 
that  Dorothy  came,  during  the  Lenten  period  and 
the  spring  which  followed,  to  form  a  philosophy  for 
herself,  or  rather  to  try  to  observe  in  her  own  case 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  221 

certain  regulations  that  seemed  to  her  of  impor 
tance.  Modern  reading  had  filled  her  mind  with  a 
sense  of  the  influence  which  so-called  natural  causes 
have  upon  the  entire  being.  She  had  grown  to  see 
that  the  food  we  eat  and  the  air  we  breathe  affect 
materially  the  human  structure,  and  that  the  move 
ment  of  our  thoughts  is  vastly  dependent  upon  the 
conditions  of  the  body.  The  wonderful  operation 
of  the  laws  of  heredity,  as  portrayed  in  the  books 
of  the  day,  had  revealed  to  her  how  much  the  wel 
fare  of  offspring  is  in  the  hands  of  parents.  A  de 
sire  to  conform  to  the  laws  of  Nature,  and  to  resist 
those  agencies  which  threaten  health  and  vitality, 
began  to  be  a  part  of  her  religious  system. 

Thus  life  for  Dorothy  during  these  months  and 
far  into  another  year  was  deeply  introspective  but 
uneventful.  As  she  had  anticipated,  she  never  saw 
Ramsay  Whiting.  He  had  taken  his  dismissal  as 
final,  and  according  to  rumor  was  striving  to  soothe 
the  smart  of  his  disappointment  by  political  and 
agricultural  activity.  Arthur  Remington  called  one 
spring  afternoon  when  she  was  out,  and  on  her  birth 
day,  a  fortnight  later,  she  received  an  anonymous 
basket  of  flowers  the  label  of  which  was  addressed 
in  his  handwriting.  When  summer  came,  she  went 
to  Bar  Harbor  for  a  little  while,  but  sought  a  tran 
quil  shelter  through  August  with  some  friends  who 
had  an  eyrie  on  the  same  coast  out  of  the  course 
of  tourist  travel.  And  October  came  once  more 
without  bringing  further  incident  than  a  daily  round 
of  trivial  duty  and  earnest  introspection  into  her  life. 


222  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

But  it  was  otherwise  with  the  young  bride  who 
lived  not  many  blocks  away.  October  found  her 
just  recovering  from  the  effects  of  a  confinement. 
She  was  so  far  convalescent  as  to  be  able  to  be 
down-stairs  once  more,  and  her  father  was  dining 
with  her  for  the  first  time  since  baby  was  born. 
He  and  Woodbury  were  smoking  their  cigars  in 
the  dining-room,  and  she  was  in  the  parlor  waiting 
for  them.  Though  still  handsome,  Isabel  had  al 
tered  in  her  appearance  since  marriage.  The  em 
bonpoint,  which  but  added  a  charm  to  her  girlish 
proportions,  had  developed  so  as  to  give  her  cheeks 
and  figure  a  trace  of  coarseness.  She  resembled 
Peter  Idlewild  more  closely  than  ever.  A  news 
paper  lay  on  her  lap,  from  which  she  had  been  try 
ing  to  extract  a  little  light  on  the  political  questions 
of  the  day  that  absorbed  her  husband  so  keenly,  — 
for  she  hated  to  be  ignorant  of  the  things  Wood- 
bury  was  interested  in,  —  but  she  had  given  the 
task  up  in  despair.  He  was  a  candidate  for  the 
Assembly  again,  and  there  were  some  who  were 
opposed  to  his  re-election.  It  was  all  so  perplexing, 
this  discussion  of  platforms  and  parties.  She  could 
not  understand  what  it  meant ;  and  from  a  recog 
nition  of  her  helplessness  in  this  respect  she  had 
lapsed  into  reverie.  Her  complexion  had  not  quite 
regained  its  bloom,  and  the  firm  mouth  wore  an 
expression  that  almost  suggested  pain. 

Why  was  it  her  husband  did  not  care  for  her 
more  ?  She  loved  him  so  deeply,  so  truly  ;  and  yet 
he  —  he  was  cold  and  indifferent.  He  was  kind,  — 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  223 

yes,  he  was  kind  ;  but  kindness  was  a  poor  substi 
tute  for  the  affection  she  craved.  She  was  certain 
of  it,  —  he  tolerated  her,  and  that  was  all.  Why 
was  it,  oh  !  why  was  it  ?  He  seemed  to  be  drifting 
away  from  hen,  She  had  lost  the  power  to  interest 
him.  He  told  her  so  little  about  himself.  He  was 
unwilling  to  share  his  thoughts  with  her.  When 
she  talked,  and  tried  to  express  interest  in  what 
concerned  him,  and  to  understand  his  hopes  and 
ambitions,  he  listened  to  her  with  an  amused  smile. 
"  Don't  bother  your  little  head,  my  dear,  about  such 
matters,"  he  would  say.  Bother  her  head  ?  O 
Woodbury,  Woodbury  !  If  he  could  but  know  how 
much  she  loved  him,  and  longed  to  be  a  help  to 
him  !  She  was  foolish  and  ignorant.  She  was  not 
fit  to  be  a  help  to  any  one.  He  was  right !  How 
could  she  expect  him  to  confide  in  one  who  was 
not  able  to  appreciate  his  meaning  ?  She  had 
frittered  away  her  girlhood,  and  neglected  her  op 
portunities  to  learn,  and  now  she  was  paying  the 
penalty.  The  contrast  between  herself  and  many 
whom  she  saw  about  her  was  a  keen  and  painful 
reality.  She  was,  she  could  perceive,  illiterate  and 
lacking  in  breeding. 

She  caught  a  glimpse  of  herself  in  the  glass. 
She  was  losing  her  beauty,  too.  She  was  becoming 
coarse  and  unlovely.  Her  hands  were  fat,  and  her 
wedding  ring  pressed  so  tightly  that  it  had  furrowed 
the  flesh.  She  would  be  ugly  soon,  and  he  would 
cease  to  care  for  her  altogether. 

Bah  !    How  absurd  of  her  to  take  on  in  this  way  ! 


224  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

Her  nerves  were  weak.  She  was  not  strong  yet, 
which  made  her  imaginative  and  unreasonable. 
Was  she  not  surrounded  with  everything  to  make 
her  happy,  —  a  beautiful  house,  delightful  society, 
and  the  means  to  gratify  her  slightest  desire  ? 
Woodbury  was  engrossed  in  his  election,  and  that 
explained  his  absent-mindedness,  his  indifference. 
How  glad  she  was  he  had  got  the  nomination.  She 
would  apply  herself  to  learn  all  about  such  things, 
and  surprise  him  some  day  with  her  knowledge. 
The  idea  of  her  future  proficiency  caused  her  to 
smile  in  the  midst  of  her  tears,  —  which  trickled 
down  the  faster,  like  a  shower  when  the  sun  has 
burst  through  the  clouds.  She  took  out  her  hand 
kerchief  from  her  pocket,  and,  as  she  wiped  her  eyes, 
a  tiny  worsted  sock  dropped  upon  her  lap.  She 
picked  it  up  and  kissed  it.  Baby's  !  Dear  little 
baby,  —  his  baby.  There,  at  least,  she  had  a  cause 
of  happiness,  —  a  treasure  that  she  could  love,  and 
that  would  love  her. 

Hark  !  She  heard  steps.  Her  father  and  Wood- 
bury  had  left  the  dining-room.  They  must  not  see 
that  she  had  been  crying.  How  childish  she  was  ! 
She  hurried  to  the  mirror,  and  rubbed  vigorously 
her  cheeks  where  the  tear-stains  glistened. 

"  Eh,  Isabel  ? " 

The  banker  was  alone,  and  advanced  rubbing  his 
hands  with  an  amused,  sly  expression.  "  They  've 
come  for  him.  There  's  a  raft  of  them  in  the  hall." 

"  Who  Ve  come,  pa  ? " 

"  The   boys  —  the   strikers.     I  mean,  there  's   a 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  22$ 

deputation  from  the  voters  of  the  district  here  to 
see  Stoughton." 

"  What  do  they  want  of  him  ? " 

"  To  subscribe  to  a  benevolent  society,  I  guess  ; " 
and  the  magnate  chuckled. 

"  Well,  he  will,  pa,  won't  he  ?  " 

"  Can't  tell,  my  dear.  Your  husband  is  a  civil- 
service  reformer,  you  know."  The  old  man  laughed 
scornfully. 

Isabel  had  very  indefinite  ideas  as  to  the  precise 
functions  of  a  civil-service  reformer.  She  had  seen 
the  term  in  the  papers,  and  always  associated  it 
from  the  etymology,  with  some  improvement  in 
politics.  But  then  her  father,  from  his  tone,  evi 
dently  did  not  agree  with  Woodbury  on  the  ques 
tion.  They  always  disagreed  about  politics.  She 
wished  it  were  not  so. 

"  Do  you  think  Woodbury  will  be  elected,  pa  ?  " 

"  It 's  hard  to  tell,  Isabel.  You  know  I  'm  on  the 
other  side,  and  bound  to  think  not.  I  'm  a  Hunker 
Democrat,  and  Stoughton  's  a  Dyed-in-the-wool  Re 
publican."  He  glanced  stealthily  at  the  girl.  It 
delighted  him  to  tease  her  a  little. 

"  I  know,  pa,"  she  said  ruefully ;  "  but  you  won't 
have  to  vote  against  him  ?  " 

"  I  never  voted  the  Republican  ticket  in  my  life." 

"  Oh,  well ;  once  would  n't  make  any  difference. 
Besides,  you  want  to  have  him  elected,  don't  you  ? " 
She  had  drawn  a  footstool  close  to  her  father's 
chair,  and  sat  with  her  blue  eyes  looking  up  at  him 
beseechingly. 


226  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

He  smiled  banteringly,  and  smoothed  the  golden 
hair  with  his  hand. 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  man,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
toss  of  her  head.  "  I  would  go  out  and  make  peo 
ple  vote  for  him."  She  laughed  ;  but  a  defiant 
light  shone  in  her  face,  that  brought  out  more  viv 
idly  the  likeness  to  her  parent. 

"  I  believe  you  would,  Isabel.  That  was  my 
style,"  he  added.  "  I  stumped  the  State  for  Bu 
chanan  in  '56."  He  paused  a  minute,  in  proud 
remembrance  of  his  past  exploits  ;  then  went  on  to 
narrate  an  incident  of  how  he  had  once  circulated 
a  ballot  at  the  polls,  which  was  printed  in  such  a 
way  as  to  mislead  people  into  thinking  they  were 
voting  against  his  candidate. 

As  Mr.  Idlewild  reached  the  close  of  his  anec 
dote,  Stoughton  entered  the  room  with  an  absorbed 
expression.  He  was  in  evening  dress ;  his  hair 
was  parted  in  the  middle.  His  appearance  was 
that  of  the  refined  and  cultivated  gentleman.  His 
figure  had  filled  out  of  late,  and  the  contour  of  his 
cheeks  perhaps  suggested  that  he  lived  a  little  too 
well. 

The  banker  looked  up,  at  his  step.  "  Well,  did 
you  fix  things  all  right  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  They  wanted  money,  did  n't  they  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so." 

His  son-in-law's  laconic  replies  rather  discon 
certed  Peter  Idlewild.  The  old  man  sat  smiling  in 
sarcastic  silence,  with  his  hand  resting  on  Isabel's 


AN   AVERAGE  MAN.  22/ 

head,  now  and  again  mechanically  patting  her  hair. 
She  looked  inquiringly  from  the  one  to  the  other. 

Stoughton  advanced  moodily  to  the  fireplace,  and 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  grate,  leaning  against 
the  mantel.  "  They  're  a  fine  crowd,"  he  muttered 
presently,  —  almost  savagely.  "  They  called  them 
selves  the  Independent  Ballot  Boys,  and  declared 
they  all  wanted  to  vote  for  me,  but  would  like  to 
know  my  views  on  certain  points.  I  said,  '  Walk 
in,  gentlemen/  and  ordered  Pierson  to  bring  up 
some  wine.  There  were  seven  of  them,  and  they 
looked  like  some  sort  of  mechanics.  A  little  fellow 
with  a  brown  beard  and  ferret  eyes  did  the  talking. 
He  said  he  believed  the  chances  were  first-rate,  and 
that  the  party  would  poll  a  big  vote.  He  'd  heard  I 
was  a  good  Republican,  and  was  sound  on  all  the 
leading  questions.  I  replied  that  I  thought  I  was, 
and  told  Pierson  to  pass  round  the  champagne. 
'  Here  's  to  Mr.  Stoughton,  boys,'  piped  the  little 
man,  '  and  may  he  come  out  at  the  head  of  the 
poll ! '  They  all  drank  their  fizz  contentedly,  with 
the  exception  of  one  customer,  —  a  big  chap,  with 
a  frame  like  a  blacksmith,  who  seemed  uneasy  until 
he  got  a  tumbler  from  the  sideboard,  into  which  he 
poured  the  contents  of  his  wine-glass." 

"  The  horrid  creature  !  "  said  Isabel. 

"After  they  had  finished  there  was  an  awkward 
pause.  They  showed  no  disposition  to  move,  and 
I  did  n't  know  exactly  what  to  say.  Several  ,eyes 
were  turned  towards  the  spokesman,  who  coughed 
once  or  twice,  as  if  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed. 


228  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

'We're  poor  men,  Mr.  Stoughton/  he  said  at  last, 
with  a  meaning  leer.  As  I  pretended  not  to  under 
stand,  he  added  with  more  emphasis :  '  We  can't 
afford  to  vote  for  nothing.  We  thought  perhaps, 
sir,  you  'd  feel  disposed  to  contribute  a  trifle  towards 
helping  your  friends  ;  our  sassiety 's  in  need  o'  funds/ 
and  he  winked  knowingly.  '  You  mean/  said  I, 
'  that  you  want  me  to  pay  you  for  voting  for  me  ? ' 
'  That 's  about  the  size  of  it,  mister  ! '  exclaimed 
the  blacksmith  ;  and  with  the  words  he  emptied 
the  rest  of  the  bottle  into  his  tumbler." 

"  The  wretch  !  "  exclaimed  Isabel. 

"  Well  ? "  said  Peter  Idlewild,  as  his  son-in-law 
remained  silent.  . 

"  Of  course  I  told  them  they  'd  mistaken  their 
man,  and  that  I  would  not  contribute  a  cent  for 
such  a  purpose.  I  said  I  believed  in  honest  meth 
ods  in  politics,  and  that,  though  I  should  be  glad 
to  have  their  support,  I  must  decline  to  pay  money 
for  votes.  They  listened  to  me  in  a  sort  of  grim 
silence.  '  We  're  very  sorry  that  those  are  your 
views,  Mr.  Stoughton/  said  the  spokesman  at  last. 
I  answered  that  I  was  very  sorry,  too,  not  to  be 
able  to  accede  to  their  demands.  '  Well,  I  suppose 
there  ain't  much  use  in  our  staying  any  longer/ 
As  they  filed  out,  I  heard  the  blacksmith  mutter 
defiantly  :  '  That  fixes  you.  The  aristocrat  as  is  n't 
willing  to  help  an  honest  man  to  get  a  living  won't 
have  any  vote  of  mine.  Come  on,  boys.'  " 

The  old  man  laughed.  "  I  know  the  crowd.  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  them  in  the  hall.  That  big 
fellow  was  Tim  Leahy,  one  of  the  most  notorious 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  2 29 

strikers  in  the  district.  You'd  better  have  given 
them  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars." 

The  young  man  replied  that  he  did  not  consider 
it  right.  He  was  pledged  to  the  reform  cause. 

"  Well,  I  guess  they  '11  find  others  who  won't 
be  so  particular.  An  election  's  an  election,  and 
what  '11  your  civil-service  reform  amount  to  if  you 
don't  come  out  ahead  ?  I  warrant  Finchley  won't 
let  them  go  off  empty-handed." 

"  I  dare  say  !  " 

"  But  you  would  n't  have  Woodbury  do  anything 
he  considers  wrong,  pa  ? " 

"Fudge!"  said  the  banker.  "You're  cutting 
your  own  throat,"  he  went  on  to  say,  addressing 
the  young  man.  "  You  '11  only  have  yourself  to 
blame  if  they  slaughter  you  at  the  polls.  I  was 
talking  to  Alderman  Dunn  yesterday,  and  he  de 
clared  you  needed  every  vote  you  could  get  in  order 
to  win.  I  tell  you,  there  's  nothing  lost  by  being 
smart  in  this  world,  and  making  the  most  of  your 
opportunities." 

After  Mr.  Idlewild  was  gone,  Stoughton  walked 
up  and  down  the  room  with  a  preoccupied  air  for 
some  minutes.  He  wheeled  up  an  armchair  to  the 
hearth,  and,  stretching  his  legs  out  on  the  fender, 
contemplated  his  pumps  and  dainty  silk  stockings. 

"  Woodbury  ? " 

"Well?"   ' 

"  I  don't  mind  your  smoking  here." 

There  was  another  silence,  and  Isabel  rose  and 
changed  her  seat  to  one  beside  her  husband.  She 


230  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

put  her  arm  about  his  neck,  and  pressed  her  cheek 
against  his.  "  Arthur  Remington  was  here  this 
afternoon,"  she  said  presently.  "  He  thinks  baby 
is  the  image  of  pa." 

"  Humph  ! " 

"  Of  course,  dear,  I  'd  rather  have  him  look  like 
you  than  anybody ;  but  if  it  is  n't  to  be  you,  I  'm 
glad  it 's  pa."  She  was  still  a  moment.  "  I  'm 
dreadfully  sorry  you  are  worried,  Woodbury." 

He  knocked  his  pumps  together  irritably.  Pres 
ently  he  freed  himself  from  her  embrace,  with  a 
restless  twist  of  his  shoulders,  and  sat  up  straight 
in  his  chair.  "  I  believe  I  will-  smoke,  Isabel ; " 
and  he  took  a  cigar  from  his  vest  pocket,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  notch  its  end  with  an  ingenious  gilt 
bawble  that  dangled  from  his  watch-chain. 

"  How  cute  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  have  never 
seen  that  before.  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  "  and  she 
leaned  forward  to  examine  the  guillotine-like  move 
ment  of  the  bit  of  jewelry. 

"  Gerald  Pumystone  gave  it  to  me  yesterday. 
It 's  the  latest  wrinkle  from  Paris." 

He  smoked  in  reflective  silence,  while  the  young 
wife  sat  leaning  back,  with  her  hands  clasped  be 
hind  her  head,  gazing  at  him. 

"  Do  you  suppose  the  men  who  were  here  to 
night  will  really  vote  against  you  ?" 

Stoughton  frowned  slightly.  He  drew  his  cigar 
from  between  his  teeth,  and  studied  the  lighted 
end.  "  I  don't  know,  Isabel,"  he  answered  briefly. 

Five  minutes  passed,  and  no  word  was  spoken. 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  231 

A  log  of  the  wood-fire  broke  with  a  sputter  on  the 
hearth.  Isabel  rose  and  said  she  was  going  to 
bed. 

"  Good-night,  Woodbury  ! "  She  kneeled  down 
beside  his  chair.  He  took  her  cheeks  between  his 
hands,  and  gazed  into  her  face.  "  You  look  a  little 
tired,  dear,  to-night.  You  must  be  careful  of  your 
self.  How  does  the  new  nurse  work  ? " 

The  tears  started  to  her  eyes.  "  I  wish  —  I  wish, 
Woodbury,  you  would  try  to  tell  me  a  little  more 
about  yourself.  I  'm  sure  I  could  understand  very 
soon."  A  drop  fell  upon  her  cheek,  which  she 
hastened  to  brush  away.  "  I  'm  very  foolish,  I 
know,  but  I  do  love  you  so  much !  " 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  Isabel !  I  will  tell  you  any 
thing  you  desire."  The  young  man  stroked  her 
hair  affectionately.  This  outburst  puzzled  him. 
"  Another  week  will  see  an  end  to  this  plaguy 
election,  and  then  I  shall  have  more  time." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  bother  you,  Woodbury/'  she 
exclaimed  piteously. 

"  Of  course  not !  I  know  that,  dear."  He  raised 
her  from  the  floor,  and  kissed  her  kindly.  "  You 
are  tired.  Your  nerves  are  not  strong  yet." 

He  led  her  to  the  staircase.  She  turned  and 
looked  at  him,  half  timidly,  as  if  to  implore  for 
giveness  ;  then,  as  their  eyes  met,  she  buried  her 
face  upon  his  breast.  He  clasped  her  in  a  close 
embrace. 

"Ah,  Woodbury!"  she  murmured,  " you  will 
always  love  me,  won't  you  ? " 


232  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

"Always,  Isabel."  As  she  raised  toward  him 
her  glistening  lashes,  he  pressed  two  or  three  re 
assuring  kisses  upon  her  brow.  He  watched  her 
ascend  the  stairs,  turning  at  the  landing  to  smile 
at  him  once  more  ere  she  vanished.  "  Good-night, 
dear  ;  sleep  soundly  !  "  he  said. 

Stoughton  resumed  his  seat  by  the  hearth,  and 
sat  long,  gazing  at  the  smouldering  embers.  His 
lips  were  tightly  compressed,  and  there  was  a 
yearning,  sorrowful  look  in  his  eyes.  His  thoughts 
were  busy.  Perchance  pity  was  there  for  the  wife 
he  did  not  love,  and  remorse  for  the  suffering  of 
which  he  was  the  cause.  Perchance  also,  in  that 
wealth  of  affection  she  had  betrayed  for  him,  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  happiness  once  within  his 
grasp,  and  thrown  away  forever.  He  too  might 
have  thrilled  with  such  a  passion,  had  he  but  been 
steadfast.  He,  too,  might  have  felt  for  another  a 
love  as  fervent  as  that  squandered  by  this  poor 
child  upon  him  ;  but  he  had  preferred  the  seen 
to  the  unseen,  and  sacrificed  the  eternal  for  that 
which  was  sure  to  perish.  There  are  moments 
when  even  Ihe  glowing  consciousness  of  material 
prosperity,  and  the  carefully  argued-out  conviction 
that  a  comfortable  egoism  is  the  summit  of  phi 
losophy  pale  before  the  light  of  the  captive  spirit, 
still  struggling  to  aspire,  like  the  long,  thin  flame 
of  a  dying  candle. 

The  expression  of  Woodbury  Stoughton's  face 
changed  by  degrees  to  a  grave  tranquillity.  He 
sighed  once  or  twice,  then  rose  from  his  chair.  He 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  233 

shook  himself,  and  arranged  his  cravat  in  the 
mirror  over  the  mantel-piece.  "  Half-past  ten. 
Humph  !  "  He  built  up  the  wood  fire,  and  stood 
with  his  back  to  it,  warming  his  legs.  He  was 
thinking  again. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  he,  presently,  "  if  I  had  n't  bet 
ter  have  given  those  fellows  something  ? " 

He  sighed  once  more,  and,  choosing  a  volume 
from  the  table,  composed  himself  to  read.  The 
book  was  a  French  novel  —  Feuillet's  "L'Histoire 
d'une  Parisienne  "  —  which  Mrs.  Tom  Fielding  had 
informed  him  was  excellent. 


XII. 


•  RASTER !  The  sun  has  risen  bright  and  clear 
••— '  to  greet  the  Christian  festival,  and  now  at 
high  noon  shines  down  with  dancing  light  on  the 
throng  that  fills  the  streets,  returning  home  from 
the  churches.  Ever  eager  and  restless,  but  with  a 
lighter  step  than  yesterday,  as  if  the  fresh  hope 
welling  up  in  the  heart  had  given  wings  to  their 
feet,  the  crowd  pour  along  the  pavements.  Happy- 
looking  maidens,  gay  with  new  bonnets  and  blush 
ing  roses  at  their  belts,  trip  past  in  the  com 
pany  of  spick-and-span  young  men,  neatly  gloved, 
and  conscious  of  their  canes.  Children  flock  by 
in  merry  prattle,  for  all  the  March  wind  that 
whirls  about  their  curls  at  the  street  corners,  and 
threatens  the  pride  of  the  lilies  in  their  little  hands. 
It  is  not  spring  yet ;  so  at  least  bethinks  the  grand- 
sire,  buttoning  against  the  chilly  gust  the  overcoat 
he  had  let  dangle  open, —  not  averse  perhaps  to 
giving  the  rising  generation  a  peep  of  the  fancy 
waistcoat  in  fashion  when  the  Battery  was  the  ter 
race  of  fashion,  and  Canal  Street  marked  the  boun 
dary  of  civilization.  Here  and  there,  amid  the 
passers,  the  flowing  veil  that  speaks  of  recent  sorrow 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  235 

shrouds  face  and  figure.  Those  wearing  them,  if 
alone,  walk  hurriedly,  as  if  eager  to  escape  the 
whisper  of  recognition  ;  others,  resting  upon  some 
protecting  arm,  move  cumbrous  and  slow.  The  mu 
sic  of  the  bells  floats  down  from  the  steeples.  In 
the  windows  of  many  a  solemn  mansion  the  Lilium 
candidum  towers  chaste  and  stately  between  the 
drawn-back  shutters.  Manibus  o  date  lilia  plenis. 
To-day  is  the  anniversary  of  the  hope  of  humanity. 

Tripping  with  the  rest  down  the  steps  of  the 
small  chapel  where  she  is  wont  to  worship,  comes 
Dorothy  Crosby,  clasping  her  prayer-book,  and  the 
snowy  calla  given  her  by  one  of  her  Sunday-school 
scholars.  Her  earnest  face  is  still  eloquent  with 
the  influences  of  the  hour.  Thrilled  yet  thoughtful, 
she  has  heard  the  sweet  and  holy  cadences  of  the  ser 
vice,  and  listened  once  more  to  that  wondrous  story 
upon  which  the  Christian  faith  reposes.  Yet  a  little 
while  and  the  world  seeth  me  no  more,  hit  ye  see  me. 

A  light  hand  touches  her  shoulder.  She  turns,  and 
with  an  ecstatic  "  My  dear !  "  beams  upon  Florence 
Lawton  a  radiant  smile  ;  then  grasps  and  squeezes 
her  fingers  with  mysterious  rapture. 

"  I  'm  so  glad,  Florence,"  she  whispers.  "  It  was 
so  nice  of  you  to  send  me  word." 

"  Is  n't  it  exciting  ?  I  was  just  crazy  to  tell  you 
at  the  Tremaines*'  last  Thursday,  but  Mr.  Lattimer 
had  n't  told  his  relations,  and  he  declared  his  great- 
aunt  would  alter  her  will  if  she  heard  of  the  engage 
ment  from  any  one  but  him.  Don't  speak  of  it 
until  to-morrow,  will  you,  Dorothy  ? " 


236  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

"  Of  course  not,  dear." 

"  I  'm  so  afraid  it  will  get  out  to-day.  I  made 
Mr.  Lattimer  go  to  a  different  church  this  morning, 
on  purpose  to  put  people  off  the  scent ;  but  I  'm  sure 
it  has  leaked  out.  Old  Miss  Bell  simpered  at  me 
all  through  the  service,  just  as  if  she  knew  of  it." 

Miss  Lawton,  with  a  parting  nod  of  enigmatic 
delight,  whisked  into  her  coupe. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Crosby." 

The  voice  was  Arthur  Remington's.  He  stood 
smiling  at  her  side,  and  asked  if  she  were  going 
to  walk  home. 

"Yes,  I  believe  so."  Dorothy  blushed  a  little, 
and  glanced  down  at  the  bunch  of  red  roses  in  her 
corsage.  "  I  have  not  seen  you  for  some  weeks, 
Mr.  Remington." 

No.  He  had  been  busy,  very  busy.  His  time 
was  taken  up  with  politics,  in  addition  to  his  prac 
tice.  Had  she  read  in  the  papers  how  much  prog 
ress  the  reformers  had  been  making  ? 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  take  a  great  interest  in  all  that  sort 
of  thing  now.  I  have  become  tremendously  indus 
trious  this  winter.  I  belong  to  a  debating  club ! 
Only  think,  we  discussed  last  week  the  tendencies 
of  modern  civilization,  and  decided  that  the  wo 
men  of  the  present  day  were  superior,  as  a  whole, 
to  the  men.  What  have  you  to  say  to  that,  Mr. 
Remington  ?" 

"  I  dare  say  you  're  right.  You  see,  the  men  have 
to  work  so  hard  to  make  money,  it  is  n't  altogether 
their  fault." 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  237 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  moment  or  two. 
"•It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  send  me  these  lovely 
flowers,  Mr.  Remington,"  she  said  softly.  ;  . 

"  I  'm  glad  you  liked  them."  He  went  on  to  say 
that  the  roses  were  very  fine  this  year. 

"These  are  exquisite.  What  a  pity  they  must 
fade  !  "  And  she  fingered  for  an  instant  one  of  the 
deep-red  Jacqueminots. 

"  That  is  the  fate  of  everything,"  he  said,  a  little 
sententiously. 

She  was  quiet  a  moment.  "  I  don't  believe,  Mr. 
Remington,  that  anything  in  the  world  which  is 
beautiful  can  really  perish,  do  you  ?  Things  change, 
but  I  cannot  think  they  die.  That  was  interesting, 
what  the  clergyman  said  as  to  coal  being  merely 
bottled-up  sunshine,  and  that  no  force  is  ever  lost." 
She  was  thinking  of  the  words  she  had  just  heard 
at  church.  The  preacher,  as  if  in  echo  of  the  doubt 
concerning  the  supernatural  agencies  of  the  resur 
rection,  which  the  young  girl  could  not  completely 
banish  from  her  thoughts,  had  led  his  hearers  to 
dwell  on  the  immortality  of  good  work  in  the  world, 
rather  than  linger  with  the  Saviour  at  the  tomb. 
His  influence  lived  and  would  never  die.  Yet  a 
little  while  and  the  world  seeth  me  no  more,  but  ye 
see  me. 

"  Yes."  It  was  difficult  to  talk  connectedly,  owing 
to  the  constant  passing  and  the  bewilderment  of 
recognizing  their  acquaintances.  They  proceeded 
down  the  avenue  towards  Dorothy's  home  in  an  ab 
sorption  varied  by  occasional  commonplace  remarks. 


238  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

The  thick-set  man  with  the  light-buff  coat,  who 
bowed,  was  Mr.  Finchley,  Woodbury  Stoughton's 
colleague  in  the  legislature.  Yes,  he  was  the  per 
son  who  was  said  to  have  been  so  much  in  love 
with  Miss  Idlewild  before  her  engagement. 

"  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Stoughton  the  other  day," 
observed  Miss  Crosby.  "  She  is  stouter  than  she 
was,  and  less  refined-looking,  I  thought.  I  found 
her  reading  the  Congressional  Record,  or  Debates, 
—  or  whatever  you  call  the  journal  in  which  the 
speeches  made  at  Washington  are  printed.  Was  n't 
it  a  funny  idea  ?  I  suppose  it 's  because  her  hus 
band  is  so  much  interested  in  politics." 

"There  is  some  talk  of  sending  Stoughton  to  Con 
gress  another  year."  Remington  frowned  slightly 
as  he  spoke,  for  his  thoughts  momentarily  reverted 
to  the  stones  he  had  heard  lately  regarding  the 
attentions  of  his  friend  to  Mrs.  Fielding.  Stough 
ton  was  said  to  be  constantly  at  her  house.  He 
himself  had  noticed  their  deliberate  isolation  at 
parties,  and  had  met  them  several  times  in  the 
street,  walking  together. 

"  You  will  come  in  and  take  luncheon  with  us, 
I  hope,  Mr.  Remington,"  said  Dorothy,  as  they 
reached  the  house  in  Washington  Square.  The 
young  man  assented,  and  followed  her  up  the  flight 
of  stone  steps,  with  its  old-fashioned  iron  railing, 
capped  with  brass.  She  led  the  way  into  the  small 
parlor.  "I  shall  leave  you  for  a  few  minutes  to 
your  own  devices ;  "  and  she  vanished  with  a  pleas 
ant  smile. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  239 

Remington  placed  his  hat  on  the  table,  and  sat 
looking  before  him  with  his  hands  in  his  lap,  the  tips 
of  the  fingers  of  one  resting  against  those  of  the 
other.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  ask  Miss  Crosby 
again  to  become  his  wife.  The  waverings  and  self- 
scrutiny  of  the  past  months*  had  culminated,  the 
evening  before,  in  a  conviction  that  he  loved  her 
dearly,  and  a  resolve  to  tell  her  so  once  more. 
What  might  be  her  feelings  regarding  him,  he  was 
at  a  loss  to  decide.  She  had  married  no  one  else, 
at  least,  and  he  knew  she  was  fond  of  him  as  a 
friend.  She  had  indicated  as  much  as  that  in  vari 
ous  ways  the  past  year.  Still  he  could  not  feel 
certain.  Very  possibly  she  did  not  care  for  any 
body  sufficiently  to  marry. 

In  his  more  youthful  days,  as  has  been  said,  be 
fore  he  understood  himself,  and  when  these  maturer 
developments  of  character  were  as  yet  in  embryo, 
the  vague  but  entrancing  ideal  of  an  all-absorbing 
love  had  been  constantly  present  to  him.  To  real 
ize  this  had  been  the  dream  of  his  early  manhood. 
There  had  been  a  time  when  his  sentiment  for  Miss 
Crosby  approached  that  complete  frenzy  of  feeling 
which  makes  everything  in  creation,  save  the  per 
sonality  in  question,  seem  subsidiary  and  stale. 
Then,  even  before  he  had  asked  her  to  become  his 
wife  and  she  refused  him,  the  intensity  of  this  in 
stinct  of  pure  nature  had  begun  to  wane,  under  the 
materializing  influences  of  daily  life.  How  difficult 
it  had  become  for  him  in  the  matter  of  his  relation 
to  the  other  sex,  as  in  everything  else,  to  retain  his 


240  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

hold  upon  ideality  !  What  was  marriage,  after  all, 
but  a  convention  ?  The  choice  of  a  wife  should 
be  governed  by  considerations  of  utility.  Mutual 
esteem  was  a  desirable  prerequisite,  and  affection 
would  follow  later.  The  fervor  of  unreasoning, 
passionate  love  belonged  to  extreme  youth,  and  was 
incompatible  with  the  more  sober  mental  processes 
of  maturity.  When  a  wife  died,  a  man  commonly 
consoled  himself  with  another.  The  marriage 
tie  was  but  a  human  compact,  looking  to  the 
maintenance  of  the  family  system  upon  which 
society  is  founded. 

This  was  the  same  old  basis  of  argument  that 
had  presented  itself  so  often  to  his  mind  in  relation 
to  everything  in  life.  In  the  case  of  sentiment,  as 
in  all  else,  he  had  found  himself  between  two  con 
flicting  fires.  Here,  too,  he  had  wavered  and  vacil 
lated,  and  only  after  protracted  inward  debate  come 
to  distrust  with  his  whole  heart  the  specious  phi 
losophy  of  materialism. 

He  would  be  true  to  himself.  He  loved  Dorothy 
with  all  his  heart.  She  was  his  ideal  of  all  that  a 
woman  should  be.  He  was  poor,  but  he  had  prac 
tice  enough  now  to  enable  him  to  support  a  wife  in 
a  very  simple  way,  and  he  was  not  going  to  re 
nounce  the  hope  of  winning  her  he  loved  without 
one  more  effort.  Time  enough  when  she  had 
refused  him  to  reflect  that  he  would  get  over  it. 
Time  enough  when  she  was  out  of  the  question  to 
think  about  marrying  a  rich  girl  who  would  make  him 
comfortable  for  life.  He  knew  that  he  should  find 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  241 

in  her  sympathy  and  right-mindedness  the  greatest 
blessing  life  could  give. 

He  sat  in  the  little  parlor,  in  that  nervous  yet 
deliberate  state  peculiar  to  one  who  has  resolved 
upon  a  step  that  will  affect  his  entire  future.  Now 
that  he  had  definitely  made  up  his  own  mind,  the 
doubts  as  to  what  Miss  Crosby's  feelings  might  be 
harassed  him  disagreeably.  Why  did  she  not  come  ? 
He  arose  and  began  to  pace  the  room.  He  stopped 
before  the  mantel-piece,  and  examined  the  ornaments 
and  photographs  thereon,  with  which  he  was  already 
familiar.  His  eye  fell  on  a  tintype  of  a  group  taken 
at  Bar  Harbor  two  summers  ago.  Miss  Crosby  was 
among  the  number.  She  wore  a  black  fichu  about 
her  neck,  and  her  Japanese  sun-umbrella  was  jauntily 
carried  over  her  shoulder.  He  was  sitting  at  her  feet. 
How  desperate  he  was  about  her  then  !  Ramsay 
Whiting  had  seemed  to  him  to  have  the  inside  track. 
That  reminded  him,  —  he  had  heard,  the  night  be 
fore,  a  rumor  that  Lattimer  was  engaged  to  Flor 
ence  Lawton.  He  wondered  if  it  was  true.  Miss 
Crosby  would  be  sure  to  know.  Why  did  n't  she 
come  ? 

The  door  opened  and  Dorothy  reappeared.  "  You 
must  excuse  me,  Mr.  Remington,  for  keeping  you  so 
long.  Mamma  has  a  headache  and  needed  me." 

Remington  suggested  that  as  Mrs.  Crosby  was 
not  feeling  well,  perhaps  he  had  better  take  his  de 
parture.  "  I  shall  rely  upon  your  sending  me  away 
if  you  don't  want  me,"  he  continued,  in  response  to 
her  assurance  that  she  was  quite  at  liberty. 

16 


242  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

"Very  well.  I  hope  you  can  carve,"  she  added, 
with  a  laugh  ;  "  for  I  always  depend  on  mamma  to 
cut  the  cold  chicken." 

Remington  stood  leaning  against  the  mantel-piece 
with  the  tintype  still  in  his  hand.  She  evidently 
felt,  he  reflected,  that  they  were  on  an  entirely 
friendly  footing,  or  she  would  never  have  been 
privy  to  a  tete-d-tete  luncheon.  "  I  used  to  carve 
a  good  deal  at  college,"  he  answered.  She  wore 
one  of  his  roses  still ;  that  was  something. 

He  turned  the  tintype  toward  the  light  and  scru 
tinized  it.  "  Miss  Plumber  looks  in  this  as  if  she 
had  lost  her  last  friend.  What  a  funny  girl  she 
was  !  I  believe,  though,  you  did  n't  see  very  much 
of  her,"  he  said,  looking  up.  "  I  was  obliged  to 
solace  myself  with  her  society  for  want  of  better.. 
By  the  way,  I  hear  Mr.  Lattimer  is  engaged  to  Miss 
Florence  Lawton." 

"  Oh,  who  told  you  ? "  and  then,  as  the  young  man 
laughed  gleefully  at  the  success  of  his  strategy, 
Dorothy  gave  utterance  to  several  ejaculations  dep 
recatory  to  herself  for  having  let  the  cat  out  of  the 
bag  in  such  an  unguarded  way.  "  Oh,"  she  cried, 
"  I  am  a  perfect  sieve.  But  it  was  base  of  you,  Mr. 
Remington.  I  don't  see  how  you  could  have  been 
willing  to  deceive  me.  Of  course  I  thought  you 
knew  all  about  it." 

"Well,  he's  a  lucky  fellow." 

"  I  think  they  are  both  lucky.  Mr.  Lattimer  is  a 
very  nice  man." 

"  Yes,  he  is.     Lattimer  is  a  good  fellow."     Rem- 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  243 

ington  spoke  a  little  as  if  he  were  conscious  of 
magnanimity.  "  You  know  him  very  well,  I  believe, 
Miss  Crosby.  I  remember  you  saw  a  good  deal  of 
him  that  summer  at  Bar  Harbor." 

"  Yes.  We  are  quite  intimate.  He  used  to  play 
the  banjo  beautifully.  We  had  some  amusing  even 
ings  together  on  the  water.  Let  me  see,  that  was 
nearly  three  years  ago.  How  time  flies!  "  She  was 
pensive  a  moment.  "  I  think  luncheon  is  ready,  Mr. 
Remington,"  she  said  presently. 

Miss  Crosby  presided  over  the  cups  and  saucers 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  but  the  cold  chicken  was 
placed  so  that  the  guest  should  not  sit  at  the  foot. 
The  meal  was  a  tranquil  one.  Remington,  who 
was  hungry,  ate  with  relish ;  but  Dorothy  confined 
herself  to  a  cup  of  tea  and  thin  bread  and  butter. 

"You  eat  nothing,  Miss  Crosby,"  said  the  young 
man. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  doing  very  well." 

"  You  had  better  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of 
chicken."  He  raised  a  tempting  slice  of  the  breast 
on  the  fork. 

She  shook  her  head  resolutely,  as  if  impatient  of 
dictation  from  him. 

"  I  hope  Mrs.  Crosby's  headache  is  not  serious," 
he  said,  after  a  spell  of  silence. 

"  Oh,  no.  Mamma  has  them  every  now  and  then. 
If  you  have  finished,  Mr.  Remington,  we  will  go 
into  the  other  room." 

Dorothy  sat  down  on  a  lounge;  and,  after  a  pre 
liminary  saunter  toward  his  favorite  fireplace,  he 


244  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

took  his  seat  beside  her.  He  picked  up  a  photo 
graph  album  from  the  table.  "  May  I  look  at 
this?" 

"  Certainly," 

"  That  is  your  father,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes.     He  died  when  I  was  very  young." 

"  It  is  an  interesting  face.  You  have  his  eyes 
and  mouth." 

"  I  am  thought  to  be  very  like  him.  That  is  my 
mother's  mother." 

"  Ah,  this  must  be  you !  What  a  funny  little 
tot !  You  could  not  have  been  more  than  five. 
And  here  is  another  — " 

"  Don't  look  at  that.  Please  give  me  the  book. 
I  didn't  know  that  hateful  thing  was  there.  Oh, 
how  unkind !  " 

"  It  is  n't  flattering  exactly,  but  I  like  it."  Rem 
ington  had  insisted  upon  examining  the  photograph 
which  portrayed  his  sweetheart  at  the  age  of  six 
teen,  with  a  schoolgirl  braid  down  her  back.  "  You 
know  that  anything  which  concerns  you  interests 
me,  Miss  Crosby." 

The  words  were  spoken  in  a  quiet,  serious  tone. 
Upon  the  next  page  was  a  likeness  of  her  in  full 
ball-dress,  evidently  of  recent  date.  He  sat  bend 
ing  forward,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  it  for  some 
minutes. 

"  When  was  that  taken  ?  " 

"  Last  winter.  But  you  have  looked  at  it  enough, 
Mr.  Remington.  The  subject  does  n't  interest  me 
as  a  topic  of  conversation,  and  you  are  bound  to 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  245 

make  yourself  agreeable.  How  are  you  getting  on 
at  the  law?"  Dorothy  had  leaned  back  in  her 
corner  of  the  sofa,  and  met  his  gaze  with  self- 
possession. 

"  I  would  rather  talk  about  you  than  anything 
else  in  the  world."  He  paused  an  instant,  finger 
ing  nervously  the  album  which  still  lay  open  in  his 
hands.  He  closed  it,  and  placed  it  upon  the  table. 
"  Miss  Crosby,"  he  murmured,  leaning  toward  her, 
"  I  told  you  once,  nearly  three  years  ago,  that  I 
loved  you.  I  don't  know  that  I  can  add  anything 
to  what  I  said  then ;  but  I  have  loved  you  ever 
since,  and  love  you  still." 

"  Yes?"  She  sat  quietly,  with  her  hands  clasped 
in  her  lap,  looking  straight  before  her. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  grasping  her  hand 
impetuously,  "  that  I  think  you  are  the  sweetest, 
loveliest  woman  in  the  world  ?  I  want  you  to 
be  my  wife,  and  help  me  to  make  my  life  all  it 
should  be." 

She  did  not  withdraw  her  fingers.  She  remained 
perfectly  still,  without  meeting  his  glance. 

"  I  have  not  the  power  to  say  all  I  feel.  My 
words  sound  so  harsh  and  cold  ;  but,  Dorothy, 
Dorothy,  —  I  love  you." 

He  looked  up  imploringly  into  her  face. 

"  I  think  you  do  love  me,  Mr.  Remington,"  she 
said,  with  a  sweet  smile.  "  It  is  very  nice  to  be 
loved." 

He  covered  her  hand  with  eager  kisses.  She 
withdrew  it  softly.  "  Indeed,  Mr.  Remington,  I 


246  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

don't  know  what  to  say.  I  like  you  very  much  ;" 
and  as  she  spoke  she  fondly  gazed  down  into  his 
eyes,  —  then  drooped  her  own. 

"  My  darling  !  "  His  arm  was  about  her  waist, 
and  he  kissed  her  lips. 

She  freed  herself  gently  from  his  embrace.  "  No, 
no,  you  must  not  do  that  !  There  are  so  many 
girls,  Mr.  Remington,"  she  murmured,  "  who  would 
make  you  happier  than  I  should." 

He  went  on  to  tell  her,  in  words  which,  though 
unchosen,  must  have  been  sweet  to  her  ear,  how 
much  he  reverenced  her  character,  and  how  good 
and  pure  and  lovely  she  was.  She  fulfilled  his  ideal 
of  what  woman  ought  to  be. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  That  shows  you  know  me 
very  little,  Mr.  Remington." 

"  But  you  have  consented,  dearest,  have  you 
not  ? " 

"  Have  I  ?  "  She  gave  a  little  laugh,  the  banter 
of  which  breathed  a  joyous  self-surrender.  She 
was  silent.  Her  brown  eyes  sought  the  floor  and 
her  lip  trembled.  "  Dear,"  she  said  a"t  last,  looking 
up,  —  and  the  noble  light  in  her  face,  that  he  knew 
so  well,  was  as  a  star  of  morning,  —  "  you  must  be 
sure  to  love  me  with  all  your  heart ;  for  if  you 
should  cease  to  care  for  me,  I  think  I  should  die." 

It  was  evening,  and  the  lovers  sat  alone  in  the 
dim  firelight  of  the  library.  Mrs.  Crosby  had  left 
them  together.  The  latter's  headache  had  been 
put  to  flight  by  the  news  of  the  engagement, 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  247 

which  was  by  no  means  repugnant  to  the  maternal 
feelings.  The  good  lady  had  indeed  begun  to  be 
solicitous  lest  Dorothy  might  be  so  difficult  to 
please  that  she  would  glide  unwed  into  middle  age. 
To  be  sure,  she  was  not  twenty-five  yet ;  but,  to  a 
mother  who  has  her  daughter  on  her  mind,  this 
seems  a  mature  period.  There  was  no  objection  to 
Mr.  Remington.  His  family  was  entirely  unexcep 
tionable  ;  and  if  he  was  not  rich,  —  well,  she  had 
come  to  see  that  one  cannot  arrange  matters  be 
yond  a  certain  point.  If  Dorothy  fancied  him, 
there  was  nothing  to  be  said.  She  had  always 
suspected  how  it  would  end  ;  so  she  announced  at 
dinner, — despite  the  protestations  of  the  blush 
ing  girl  that  she  had  never  cared  a  straw  until 
recently. 

They  sat  without  talking  much  ;  for,  despite  their 
happiness,  it  was  difficult  to  realize  their  new  rela 
tion.  It  was  all  so  strange.  The  mind  of  each  was 
busy  with  thought.  In  moments  like  these  one 
sighs  for  a  glimpse  behind  the  veil  of  eternity. 
Who  can  wholly  shut  out  the  spectres  of  time  and 
change,  old  age  and  death,  from  the  blissful  vision 
of  a  perfect  joy  ?  The  shrouded  figure  which  waits 
for  all,  stands  at  the  end  of  the  vista  ;  and  with-  the 
reawakening  to  the  reality  of  life  come  the  old 
doubts  and  questionings.  Does  marriage  mean 
aught  but  a  comfortable  compact  for  the  sharing  of 
houses  and  lands  and  tears  and  laughter  in  com 
mon  ?  The  ecstasy  we  feel  is  a  delusion  that  will 
die  away  after  a  few  weeks.  Already  we  feel  calm 


248  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

and  collected ;  and  even  if  she  were  to  be  taken 
from  us  to-morrow,  would  we  die  of  grief? 

"  Was  that  true,  what  you  said  about  not  having 
cared  for  me  at  all  until  lately  ?"  asked  Remington, 
beseechingly. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  she  replied, 
with  a  coquettish  laugh.  "  It  seems  to  me  that 
every  idea  I  ever  had  is  gone.  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
never  put  confidence  in  myself  again.  Don't  you 
think,"  she  said  presently,  "  I  Ve  made  a  dreadful 
mistake  ? " 

The  young  man  pressed  her  hand  tenderly.  "  God 
grant  that  you  may  never  have  cause  to  regret  it, 
Dorothy!" 

There  was  a  short  silence.  "  I  am  sure  I  never 
shall,"  she  murmured  sweetly  and  firmly. 

"Arthur,"  she  said,  after  a  moment,  —  and  she 
pronounced  his  name  as  if  the  self-abandonment 
which  its  use  implied  still  seemed  a  weakness,  — 
"  how  strange  it  all  is  !  I  really  know  you  so  little  ! 
Do  you  remember,"  she  asked,  "  the  conversation 
we  had  three  years  ago,  at  Mrs.  Idlevvild's  ? "  She 
went  on  to  explain  that  they  had  talked  of  religion 
and  the  purposes  of  life.  "  This  is  Easter,  and  I 
do  not  like  to  feel,  dear,  that  we  think  differently 
regarding  such  things." 

He  did  not  reply  for  a  while.  "  I  was  younger 
then,  Dorothy,  than  I  am  to-day,  and  my  ideas  have 
changed  somewhat.  As  you  say,  we  are  not  per 
haps  wholly  at  one  regarding  the  questions  of  which 
you  speak.  Yet  who  really  knows  more  than  an- 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  249 

other  about  the  meaning  of  life  ?  Who  dares  take 
it  upon  himself,  in  the  face  of  the  wondrous  phe 
nomena  of  this  vast  universe,  to  forecast  the  nature 
of  the  unseen  ?  No  one  can  tell  what  is  to  become 
of  us  after  death  ;  future  existence  is  only  a  hope. 
But  still,  Dorothy  my  darling,"  and  he  clasped  her 
in  his  arms  as  he  spoke,  "  whatever  else  is  true  or 
false,  you  and  I  are  conscious  that  there  is  a  power 
somewhere,  transcending  human  thought,  which 
draws  our  spirits  upwards.  We  know  not  what  it 
is  ;  we  cannot  grasp  it ;  but  it  exists,  —  does  it 
not,  dear  one  ? — and  is  a  part  of  our  being,  though 
we  at  times  deny  it.  Is  it  possible  that  the  sole 
answer  to  this  beautiful  world,  to  all  its  joy  and 
sorrow,  its  prayers  and  aspirations,  is  merely  an 
nihilation  ?  Oh,  it  cannot  be  that  this  love  which 
we  have  pledged  to  one  another  forever,  the  kisses 
of  our  lips,  are  but  new  toys  for  death  to  mock  at. 
Nay,  let  us  believe  that  we  are  more  than  puppets  ; 
let  us  have  faith  that  the  joy  we  feel  to-day  is  given 
that  we,  through  it,  may  learn  to  make  our  lives  all 
that  they  should  be.  We  know  not  what  is  to 
come ;  but  this  we  know,  that  for  you  and  me 
there  can  be  no  rest  or  happiness  save  in  striv 
ing  to  conquer  *evil.  For  what  is  living  well 
but  strife  and  resistance  ?  Is  not  human  life  a 
growth  that  thrives  only  through  the  conscious 
struggle  of  the  spirit  ?  And,  my  Dorothy,  shall 
we  not  believe  that  the  union  of  our  souls,  if  we 
but  love  one  another  with  all  our  hearts,  will  last 
forever  ? " 


250  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

He  pressed  her  to  his  breast  with  a  fervent  em 
brace.  It  may  be  that,  even  as  he  spoke,  he  was 
conscious  of  his  old  doubts  and  questionings,  — 
even  as  one  sees  the  fog-banks  in  summer,  like 
light  clouds,  skirting  the  horizon's  edge,  and  knows 
that  they  will  gather  with  the  twilight.  But  she, 
with  a  clinging  tenderness,  put  her  arms  about  his 
neck,  and,  drawing  his  face  down  to  hers,  mur 
mured,  as  she  gazed  up  into  his  eyes :  "  O  Arthur, 
my  love,  with  such  a  faith  I  will  follow  you  to  the 
end  of  the  world." 


XIII. 


VI7OODBURY  STOUGHTON  sat  in  his  of- 
*  *  fice,  —  or  rather  offices,  as  he  had  exchanged 
the  humble  quarters  he  used  to  occupy  for  a  set 
of  rooms  in  a  fine  new  building  belonging  to  his 
father-in-law.  He  was  now  extremely  well-to-do  on 
his  own  account.  His  relationship  to  the  magnate 
had  been  naturally  the  means  of  connecting  him 
with  various  profitable  enterprises,  —  to  say  nothing 
of  the  law  business  of  a  half-dozen  large  corpora 
tions,  obtained  through  the  same  influence.  He 
was,  for  instance,  a  director  in  the  Selma  &  Peat- 
ville  Air-line  Railway,  —  a  Southern  road,  gener 
ally  supposed,  until  recently,  to  be  on  the  verge  of 
bankruptcy.  Its  stock  had  been  kicking  about  on 
the  market  for  about  fourteen  dollars  a  share,  and 
at  this  figure  a  controlling  interest  in  the  property 
had  been  acquired  by  a  syndicate,  of  which  Peter 
Idlewild  was  the  king-pin.  The  financial  world 
awoke  one  morning  to  the  discovery  that  the  so- 
called  worthless  road  had  become  an  indispensable 
feeder  to  a  high-priced  trunk-line,  and  that  its  stock 
was  valued  at  somewhere  in  the  eighties.  Stough- 
ton's  individual  profit  in  the  transaction  was  two 


252  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

hundred  thousand  dollars,  plus  a  fee  of  five  thou 
sand  for  legal  services. 

His  air  of  well-fed  prosperity  had  grown  upon 
him.  He  was  not  too  portly  to  appear  spruce,  and 
yet  his  figure  had  acquired  much  of  the  solid  pro 
portions  of  middle  age.  Around  the  ears  his  dark 
brown  hair  was  very  slightly  streaked  with  silver- 
gray,  a  circumstance  that  was  the  occasion  of  amuse 
ment  to  himself  and  his  friends. 

It  was  early  in  October,  and  he  had  just  returned 
from  Newport,  where  his  establishment  had  been 
one  of  the  glories  of  the  season.  His  career  of  two 
years  in  the  Legislature  had  been  a  conspicuous 
one ;  though  there  was  some  diversity  of  opinion 
as  to  the  sincerity  of  his  attitude  in  regard  to  the 
question  of  political  reform,  of  which,  prior  to  elec 
tion,  he  had  announced  himself  the  champion. 
There  were  reports  current  that  he  had  secretly 
worked  against  certain  bills  calculated  to  upset  the 
evil  practices  in  vogue,  alleging,  when  questioned 
regarding  his  indifference  to  the  cause,  that  it  would 
be  quite  impossible  to  carry  out  such  measures  in 
practice.  They  were  admirable  in  theory,  he  said  ; 
but  examination  had  convinced  him  of  their  lack  of 
feasibility.  He  had,  however,  on  several  occasions, 
put  himself  on  record  as  a  supporter  of  the  best 
legislation,  being,  in  fact,  the  originator  of  a  bill 
aimed  at  the  directors  of  an  institution  notorious 
for  its  ill-treatment  of  the  paupers  there  installed, 
and  one  of  the  most  earnest  advocates  of  the  im 
peachment  of  Surrogate  Baldwin,  an  official  of  the 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  253 

opposite  party,  detected  in  peculations  of  the  pub 
lic  funds.     A  leading  Republican  newspaper  spoke 
of  him  as  "  a  rising  young  man,  well  fitted  to  take 
a  prominent  place  in  the  councils  of  the  nation." 
"  Mr.  Woodbury  Stoughton,"  wrote  an  evening  con 
temporary,  "  whose  philippic  against  laxity  of  mor 
als  in  public  life  appears  elsewhere  in  our  columns, 
is  the  son-in-law  of  Honorable  Peter  Idlewild,  the 
well-known  Wall   Street  banker  and  millionnaire. 
Mr.    Stoughton   is   a  fine-appearing   man,   in    the 
neighborhood  of  thirty,  with  a  commanding  pres 
ence  and  impressive  fluency  of  speech.     He  was 
educated  at  Harvard,  and,  after  enjoying  the  advan 
tages  of  foreign  travel,  apprenticed  himself  to  the 
law.     There  is  much  consolation  for  those  appre 
hensive  concerning  the  future  of  American  politics 
to  note  the  accession  to  the  ranks  of  our  legislators 
of  one  so  well  qualified  for  the  duties  of  office.    The 
voters  of  the  district  could  scarcely  do  a  wiser  thing 
than  send  Mr.  Stoughton  as  their  representative  to 
Congress  a  year  hence.     His  speech  in  the  Assem 
bly   yesterday  was    straight   from    the    shoulder." 
Such  eulogy,  relieved  by  the  abuse  of  certain  party 
organs  on  the  Democratic  side,  had  given  Stough 
ton  considerable  prestige  among  his  social  acquaint 
ances.     It  was  common  to  hear  him  spoken  of  as 
"  that  young  Stoughton  who  is  behaving  so  well  at 
Albany."    Young  ladies  who  affected  politics  would 
ask  their  admirers  if  Mr.  Woodbury  Stoughton  had 
not  been  doing  splendidly.     There  were  those,  to 
be  sure,  as  has  been  said,  who  were  by  no  means 


254  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

so  enthusiastic  on  his  account.  In  fact,  it  was  an 
open  secret  that  Ramsay  Whiting  and  the  Civil 
Service  Association  regarded  him  askance. 

Stoughton's  lukewarm  attitude  in  the  matter  of 
the  reform  measures  previously  alluded  to  had  done 
much  to  antagonize  this  element ;  but  he  had  dam 
aged  himself  still  further  in  their  eyes  by  the  course 
he  pursued,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  session,  in  re 
gard  to  the  Leadbitter  Water-meter  Company  Bill. 
The  affair  in  question  was  a  job  that  certain  parties 
were  trying  to  engineer  through  the  Assembly,  of 
which  the  purpose  was  to  give  an  iniquitous  charter 
to  a  corporation  controlling  the  patents  of  one 
Charles  Leadbitter.  The  bulk  of  the  stock  of  this 
concern  was  held  by  some  of  the  leading  Republi 
can  politicians,  who  announced  their  intention  to 
ruin  the  future  of  such  representatives  of  the  party 
as  should  oppose  the  passage  of  the  bill ;  which, 
though  harmless  enough  on  its  face,  had  been  dis 
covered  by  the  Democratic  lawyers  to  conceal  the 
germ  of  several  large  fortunes,  to  be  realized  at  the 
expense  of  the  community.  The  latent  possibilities 
of  the  scheme,  as  laid  bare  by  this  minority  report 
of  the  committee,  were  taken  up  by  the  hostile 
press  throughout  the  State.  Public  sentiment  be 
came  aroused  ;  and  petitions  were  circulated  urging 
the  Assembly  members  of  both  parties  to  vote 
against  the  granting  of  the  charter.  A  committee 
of  the  Civil  Service  Reform  Association  waited 
upon  Stoughton,  and  represented  to  him  the  dan 
gerous  character  of  the  proposed  legislation.  He 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  255 

promised  that  he  would  do  what  he  could.  He 
agreed  with  the  remonstrants,  of  course,  as 'to  the 
importance  of  defeating  the  bill ;  but  he  said  that, 
what  with  bribes  offered  for  Democratic  votes,  and 
the  powerful  personal  influence  of  the  politicians 
interested,  the  chances  of  success  seemed  slight  to 
him.  Nevertheless  it  was  noised  abroad  that  Mr. 
Woodbury  Stoughton  would  speak  against  the  bill. 
So  great  was  the  opposition  developed  that  the 
friends  of  the  measure  found  it  advisable  to  call  in 
the  aid  of  the  party  managers.  One  morning,  a 
few  days  before  the  debate,  the  Honorable  Cornelius 
French  made  his  appearance  at  Albany;  and  there 
after  a  remarkable  change  came  over  the  temper  of 
the  lobby.  There  was  much  talk  to  be  heard  about 
the  importance  of  harmony,  and  the  need  of  keep 
ing  a  solid  front  against  the  enemy.  Certain  men 
were  reported  to  have  been  whipped  into  line.  It 
began  to  be  whispered  that  neutrality  was  all  that 
was  required  of  those  unwilling  to  cast  their  votes 
in  favor  of  the  bill.  When  the  appointed  day 
arrived,  the  obnoxious  charter  passed  the  House 
by  a  good  working-majority.  The  speeches  made 
against  it  seemed  to  hang  fire  for  the  most  part,  — 
the  only  really  effective  bit  of  oratory  coming  from 
Eugene  Finchley,  who  saw  fit  to  draw  upon  his 
head  the  maledictions  of  his  party  by  denouncing 
the  bill,  in  a  carefully  prepared  argument,  as  "  one 
of  the  most  gigantic  frauds  ever  brought  before  the 
legislature  of  this  State."  As  for  Stoughton,  he 
was  not  present.  A  sudden  telegram  had  demanded 


256  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

his  attendance  in  New  York  upon  important  busi 
ness,  an  incident  upon  which  the  Democratic  press 
did  not  fail  to  advert  with  abundant  satire.  It  was 
not  many  weeks  later  that  an  item  appeared  in  the 
leading  newspapers  to  the  effect  that  Mr.  Wood- 
bury  Stoughton  was  certain  to  receive  the  party 
nomination  for  Congress  in  the  autumn,  to  fill  the 
vacancy  occasioned  by  the  resignation  of  the  Hon 
orable  Hugh  Collamore,  "  who  finds  his  duties  as 
the  treasurer  of  the  Leadbitter  Water-meter  Com 
pany  inconsistent  with  the  demands  of  public  life." 
The  result  had  justified  the  prophecy.  It  was 
now  some  ten  days  since  Stoughton  had  been 
nominated.  The  convention  for  the  purpose  had 
been  harmonious  and  enthusiastic.  It  was  con 
sidered  a  shrewd  choice  on  the  part  of  the  mana 
gers,  for  the  reason  that,  while  the  record  of  the 
young  man  would  attract  the  disaffected,  he  was 
sufficiently  in  sympathy  with  the  party  to  bring 
out  the  popular  vote.  This,  at  least,  had  been  the 
logic  of  that  political  sphinx  Corny  French,  and 
others  who  did  not  disguise  their  anxiety  concern 
ing  the  issue  of  this  year's  fight  throughout  the 
State  and  country.  They  were  quite  aware  that 
their  party  had  indisputably  failed  to  keep  the 
pledges  made  a  year  ago,  and  the  rumblings  audible 
in  the  political  atmosphere  were  ominous  of  disaster. 
The  well-known  faculty  which  the  Democratic  party 
possessed  of  upsetting  its  own  cart,  just  when  vic 
tory  seemed  assured,  was,  however,  to  be  borne  in 
mind.  The  Honorable  Hugh  Collamore  announced 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  257 

to  a  select  audience  of  chiefs,  in  a  summing  up  of 
the  situation,  that  he  had  "  seen  sicker  children 
live."  If  all  the  nominations  to  be  made  were  as 
unexceptionable  as  that  of  his  successor,  defeat 
might  still  be  averted.  It  was  considered  that  this 
district  was  assured,  at  any  rate. 

The  wisest  plans  of  politicians,  as  well  as  those 
of  other  people,  are  liable  to  disappointment.  With 
in  the  last  forty-eight  hours  a  bombshell  had  been 
cast  into  the  party  fold,  by  the  nomination,  at  a 
large  gathering  of  Independent  voters,  of  Eugene 
Finchley,  —  as  the  standard-bearer  of  the  reform 
element  in  the  Congressional  contest,  —  and  his 
subsequent  indorsement  by  the  Democrats.  The 
movement  was  entirely  unsuspected  by  Stoughton, 
who  had  been  confident  of  the  support  of  the  In 
dependent  following.  He  had  been  aware  of  the 
hostility  of  Ramsay  Whiting  and  a  few  others,  but 
had  supposed  himself  "  solid  "  with  the  faction  as  a 
whole.  The  news  caused  him  much  annoyance, 
for  it  put  a  new  face  on  the  situation.  It  would 
require  desperate  efforts  to  overcome  the  combina 
tion  arrayed  against  him,  especially  as  he  had  taken 
the  stand  that  he  would  not  use  money  in  improper 
ways  during  the  canvass.  He  could  not  see  what 
he  had  done  to  merit  the  distrust  of  the  Whiting 
party,  which  had  been  openly  expressed  at  the 
meeting.  His  name  had  been  mentioned  with 
eulogy  by  several  speakers,  and  his  friends  —  for 
he  had  his  partisans  there,  and  even  now  need  not 
despair  of  obtaining  a  portion  of  the  Independent 

17 


2$8  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

vote  upon  election-day—had  worked  strenuously 
in  his  behalf  ;  but  a  caustic,  clear  exposition  of  his 
course  in  the  Assembly,  presented  by  Ramsay 
Whiting  and  confirmed  by  others  of  equal  weight, 
had  resulted  in  his  rejection  by  the  convention. 
Finchley,  too,  of  all  men  !  He  had  supposed  that  the 
broker's  previous  fondness  for  manipulation  at  cau 
cuses  would  stand  in  his  way ;  but,  then,  there  was 
no  denying  that  his  colleague  had  been  winning 
golden  opinions  of  late,  from  the  soundness  of  his 
views  on  important  questions.  Finchley  had  grown 
rich,  also,  and  promised  to  become  a  power  down 
town.  It  was  clear  to  him  now  that  he  had  acted 
with  vast  indiscretion  regarding  the  Water-meter 
Bill.  It  was  the  resolute  position  taken  by  Finchley 
in  that  affair  which  had  obtained  the  latter  the 
nomination.  Whether  Finchley' s  conduct  had  been 
sincere  or  not,  there  was  no  doubt  that  it  was 
clever  as  a  political  move.  He  had  wondered  at 
his  colleague's  change  of  base,  and  had  even  flat 
tered  himself  that  the  other  was  overdoing  the  re 
form  business  ;  but  the  result  showed  the  inaccuracy 
of  his  own  figuring.  •  . 

As  he  sat  in  his  private  office  this  morning,  re 
flecting  on  the  complications  caused  by  this  move 
of  the  enemy,  the  door  opened,  and  a  clerk  inquired 
if  he  would  see  Mr.  Dunn. 

"  Certainly  !     Show  him  in." 

It  was  now  some  days  since  the  action  of  the 
Reform  Convention,  but  the  Democrats  had  made 
their  nomination  only  the  evening  before.  Mr. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  259 

Dunn  was  in  charge  of  the  Stoughton  boom.  The 
young  man  had  decided  to  rely  upon  the  long 
experience  of  this  politician  in  the  management 
of  his  canvass. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Alderman." 

The  visitor  advanced  with  outstretched  hand,  his 
head  on  one  side,  and  much  of  the  solemn  con 
dolence  of  manner  that  one  adopts  toward  a  friend 
who  has  suffered  bereavement. 

"  Well,  Dunn,  they  rather  went  for  me  last  night," 
continued  Stoughton,  with  a  laugh.  "  That  makes 
a  strong  combination." 

The  fugleman  assented  by  a  nod  of  his  head. 
He  took  a  chair,  and  passed  his  hand  thoughtfully 
over  his  seamy  chin.  "  It 's  a  bad  business,"  he 
said,  with  a  caressing  whisper  that  suggested  the 
vicinity  of  the  corpse.  "  I  did  n't  suppose  those 
chaps  would  be  shrewd  enough  to  take  up  Finchley. 
There 's  one  thing  about  it,  though,  —  the  old  line 
Democrats  are  madder  than  blazes.  I  was  talking 
with  Clint  Pilcher  this  morning,  and  he  says  that 
he  'd  rather  vote  the  Republican  ticket  out-and-out, 
than  a  bastard  one  like  this." 

"  We  must  try  and  work  that  up." 

"  Sh  !  '  We  're  not  dead  yet/  as  the  fox  said  when 
he  left  his  tail  in  the  trap.  But  it 's  got  to  be  busi 
ness  this  time.  We  can't  afford  to  fool  round  any." 
There  was  a  stealthy  gleam  in  Mr.  Dunn's  eyes. 

"  No,  of  course  not.  I  was  thinking  it  would  n't 
be  a  bad  plan  to  send  out  a  circular,  calling  the 
attention  of  the  Democratic  voters  of  the  district 


26O  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

to  Finchley's  early  record.  A  pretty  Democrat 
he  is!" 

The  alderman  edged  his  chair  a  little  closer  to 
the  young  man's  desk.  "  This  is  n't  going  to  be  a 
fight  where  circulars  '11  do  any  good.  I  would  n't 
give  two  cents  for  all  the  votes  you  will  gain  in 
that  way.  Look  at  here ;  I  Ve  had  some  experi 
ence  in  this  sort  of  thing.  I  'm  no  chicken,  Mr. 
Stoughton,  as  you  '11  perhaps  allow.  We  Ve  got  to 
have  votes  to  win ;  and  if  we  don't  get  them,  the 
other  side  will." 

Mr.  Dunn  paused,  and  looked  at  the  other  in 
quiringly.  He  was  evidently  satisfied  that  he  had 
made  his  meaning  sufficiently  clear. 

But  Stoughton  did  not  rise  to  the  occasion.  He 
replied  that  they  must  put  in  solid  work,  of  course, 
—  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  have  some  enthusi 
astic  rallies,  with  speeches  and  music. 

"  Rallies  be  blowed  !  We  '11  leave  those  to  the 
Reformers,"  said  Mr.  Dunn  ;  and  he  gave  a  hoarse 
laugh.  "  What 's  got  to  elect  you  is  money  ;  and 
the  sooner  we  recognize  that,  the  better.  I  tell 
you,"  said  he,  and  he  lowered  his  voice  and  looked 
around  as  if  to  make  sure  there  was  no  one  in  the 
room  but  themselves,  "there's  no  use  in  mincing 
matters  ;  the  fellow  that 's  got  the  longest  purse  is 
bound  to  win.  I  Ve  only  to  give  the  word  that  the 
cash  will  be  forthcoming,  to  secure  a  thousand  votes 
which  will  otherwise  go  against  us.  We  Ve  got  the 
cards  in  our  hand  if  we  play  them  right,  but  there 's 
no  time  to  be  wasted." 


AN   AVERAGE   MAN.  26 1 

"You  know  I  do  not  believe  in  buying  votes, 
Dunn,"  said  Stoughton,  drumming  nervously  with 
his  ringers  on  the  desk.  "  It 's  against  my  prin 
ciples." 

The  other  coughed  slightly  behind  his  hand,  and 
was  silent. 

"  Of  course  I  'm  ready  —  and  expect  —  to  pay  the 
legitimate  expenses  of  the  canvass  ;  but  it  would  n't 
do  for  me  to  go  beyond  that." 

"  There  's  no  need  of  your  being  known  in  the 
matter  in  any  way.  Ail  you  have  to  do  is  to  hand 
me  over  a  check,  and  that 's  the  end  of  it  so  far  as 
you  're  concerned.  If  anything  is  said,  it 's  simple 
enough  to  put  the  blame  off  on  your  friends.  You  're 
in  the  hands  of  your  friends,  and  are  not  respon 
sible  for  what  they  may  have  done."  .  The  speaker 
grinned  with  a  sense  of  relish.  "  I  saw  Tim  Leahy 
this  noon,"  continued  the  politician,- "  and  he  says 
Finchley  has  taken  headquarters  at  the  Mohawk 
House,  and  is  ready  to  do  the  square  thing  by  the 
boys.  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Stoughton,  when  it  comes  to 
politics,  sentimental  notions  are  n't  good  for  much. 
As  the  youngster  said,  when  he  picked  up  the  five- 
dollar  bill  in  church,  '  Profits  for  this  world,  and 
prayers  for  the  next/  " 

Stoughton  smiled.  "  Finchley  '11  have  to  be 
mighty  careful  how  he  pays  out  money.  If  the 
Reformers  get  wind  of  it,  he  's  beaten." 

Mr.  Dunn  wagged  his  head  sagely.  "Trust  him 
for  that.  It 's  no  fool  you  've  got  to  buck  against 
in  Finchley.  What  Steve  Doran,  who 's  running 


262  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

that  fight,  does  n't  know  about  the  business,  ain't 
worth  knowing.  But  we  've  got  them  this  time," 
he  whispered  hoarsely,  "  if  we  set  about  it  in  the 
right  way.  You  see,  as  I  was  saying,  the  leaders 
are  mad,  and  won't  support  Finchley  with  any  en 
thusiasm.  What  we  want  is,  to  get  those  fellows 
to  promise  not  to  work  against  us.  We  're  all  right 
if  we  can  make  the  machine  stand  still,  as  Joshua 
did  the  moon,  —  if  you  believe  it,  which  I  don't ; " 
and  the  speaker,  pleased  by  his  facetiousness, 
nudged  Stoughton. 

The  young  man  rose,  and  paced  the  room  for 
some  minutes.  "  How  much  do  you  need  ? "  he 
asked,  suddenly  turning  toward  his  henchman. 

The  other  rubbed  his  chin,  which  was  a  favorite 
gesture  with  him,  by  way  of  assisting  reflection. 

"  Thirty  thousand  will  see  you  through,  I  guess." 

Stoughton  whistled.  "  That 's  a  big  sum,"  he 
said. 

"Yes,  for  some  folks,  maybe,"  replied  Mr.  Dunn, 
with  a  philosophical  air.  "  It  is  n't  every  man  that 
can  afford  to  go  to  Congress.  Things  in  this  world 
cost  money,  and  people  won't  work  for  nothing. 
But  what  do  you  care  for  thirty  thousand?"  he 
added,  with  his  caressing  smile  ;  "  you  could  stand 
a  hundred  without  feeling  it,  Mr.  Stoughton." 

The  aspirant  for  Congressional  honors  continued 
to  walk  the  office  in  silence.  He  frowned  and 
pursed  his  lips.  At  last  he  sat  down  at  his  desk 
again. 

"  Look  a'  here,  Dunn,"  he  said,  with  a  nervous 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  263 

decision  of  tone,  and  gazing  directly  at  the  other ; 
"  I  Ve  gone  into  this  fight  to  win,  and  do  not  intend 
to  let  a  few  thousand  dollars  stand  in  the  way  of 
success.  I  '11  be  responsible  for  all  the  money  you 
have  to  spend  ;  but,  mind,  I  don't  care  to  know  any 
of  the  particulars.  What  I  want  is  to  come  out 
ahead  on  election-day ;  it  is  for  you  to  decide  how 
that  result  is  to  be  accomplished." 

"  Precisely,"  said  the  alderman ;  and  then,  by 
way  of  lubricating  the  situation,  he  observed,  apol 
ogetically,  that  the  only  possible  chance  of  a  happy 
result  lay  in  such  a  course.  "  It 's  depressing  that 
things  should  be  as  they  are,  Mr.  Stoughton,  but 
'human  nature  is  human  nature/  as  my  old  grand 
mother  Dunn  used  to  say  ;  and  the  man  who  acts 
on  the  belief  that  it 's  something  different,  will  get 
left,  every  time.  That 's  frozen  truth." 

Shortly  after  this  pleasantry  Mr.  Dunn  took  his 
departure.  Stoughton  sat  for  some  time  lost  in 
thought.  He  had  impressed  upon  his  henchman, 
at  parting,  the  desirability  of  making  things  sure. 
Money  was  no  object.  If  it  was  necessary  to  spend 
more,  why  spend  it,  and  he  would  foot  the  bill. 
Now  that  he  had  decided  to  take  the  step,  he  was 
anxious  that  affairs  should  be  managed  thoroughly. 

He  was  conscious  of  a  certain  loss  of  self-respect 
in  what  he  had  just  done,  which  affected  him  un 
pleasantly  ;  but  experience  had  taught  him  that  this 
would  wear  off.  He  was,  after  all,  only  doing  what 
was  done  every  day  by  candidates  for  office.  With 
the  existing  tone  of  society,  as  Dunn  said,  it  was 


264  AN  AVERAGE  MAN, 

not  possible  to  win  an  election  without  using 
money.  It  was  necessary  for  him  to  choose  whether 
he  preferred  defeat,  or  to  pay  out  thirty  or  forty 
thousand  dollars.  There  probably  had  not  been  a 
man  sent  to  Congress  for  the  past  ten  years,  who  had 
not  been  forced  to  spend  more  or  less  to  get  there. 

He  felt,  too,  a  sense  of  bitterness  at  the  action 
of  the  Reform  Association.  Since  they  had  seen 
fit  to  call  in  question  his  political  integrity,  he 
would  show  them  what  slight  influence  they  had  in 
the  community.  He  would  beat  them  out  of  their 
boots  ;  and,  as  they  accused  him  of  improper  prac 
tices  already,  he  might  as  well  get  the  benefit  as 
well  as  the  ill-repute  of  such  charges. 

What  annoyed  him  as  much  as  anything  was 
that  Arthur  Remington  had  come  in,  early  this 
morning,  to  say  he  should  not  be  able  to  work  for 
him.  His  friend  had  said  he  was  sorry  to  have 
come  to  this  conclusion  ;  but  he  could  not,  in  face 
of  the  facts  concerning  the  Leadbitter  Bill  and 
several  other  matters,  feel  that  Stoughton  sym 
pathized  with  reform  in  politics.  To  be  sure, 
Remington  had  gone  on  to  observe,  his  own  posi 
tion  was  a  delicate  one,  for  he  was  a  member  of  the 
State  Central  Committee  ;  still  he  felt,  all  the  same, 
at  liberty  to  scratch  any  names  on  the  ticket  which 
he  could  not  conscientiously  support.  Their  in 
terview  had  been  friendly  enough  ;  that  is  to  say, 
Stoughton  had  answered  that  the  other  must  be  his 
own  judge  of  the  merits  of  the  candidates.  If  his 
conduct  had  not  pleased  the  Reform  party,  he  must 


AN   AVERAGE  MAN.  265 

try  to  do  the  best  he  could  without  their  votes. 
There  were  still  a  few,  he  thought,  who  had  faith 
in  him,  —  he  had  continued,  with  a  grin.  Of  course 
he  could  not  help  feeling  badly  at  his  old  friend's 
desertion  ;  but  it  would  not  in  any  way  interrupt 
their  relations,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned. 

Nevertheless  Stoughton  was  both  angered  and 
disturbed  thereby.  He  had  not  seen  nearly  as 
much  of  Remington  during  the  present  year  as  in 
times  past.  They  both  had  been  very  busy,  and 
their  ruts  ran  wider  apart  than  formerly.  Reming 
ton  had  been  married  several  weeks.  His  friend 
seemed  very  happy.  There  was  no  question  but 
that  Miss  Crosby  was  a  charming  girl.  It  was  a 
love-match,  and  Remington's  interest  in  her  dated 
from  his  first  winter  in  New  York.  He  had  always 
suspected  how  it  would  end,  although  Arthur  was  se 
cretive  about  that  sort  of  thing.  They  were  likely  to 
be  comfortably  off,  for  the  latter  had  apparently  got 
into  a  good  practice.  That  fellow  Ramsay  Whiting 
had  let  Arthur  into  a  lot  of  railroad  business.  Why, 
he  wondered,  had  Whiting  turned  against  him  ? 
It  was  Whiting  who  had  been  most  prominent  in 
opposing  his  nomination.  Well,  since  that  was  the 
way  the  cat  jumped,  he  would  see  if  he  couldn't 
make  it  warm  for  these  fellows.  He  had  never,  as 
yet,  failed  in  anything  he  undertook,  and  he  did 
not  propose  to  do  so  now.  As  for  Arthur,  he  was 
sorry.  He  was  fond  of  his  friend  ;  but  the  latter's 
ideas,  from  away  back  in  college  days,  had  always 
been  queer,  —  had  never  been  practical. 


266  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

Stoughton  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  three 
o'clock.  He  closed  his  desk,  and  put  on  his  over 
coat.  He  should  not  be  back  again  to-day  ;  so  he 
told  his  clerks.  As  he  threaded  his  way  along  the 
crowded  streets,  toward  the  nearest  elevated  rail 
way  station,  he  was  still  thoughtful.  With  all  his 
prosperity,  and  shrewd,  comfortable  philosophy,  he 
was  not  quite  contented  nowadays.  Not  that  he 
was  unhappy,  precisely  ;  he  had  too  much  vitality^ 
too  many  means  of  diversion,  for  that.  Nor  did 
his  conscience  trouble  him,  for  the  most  part.  He 
had  settled  for  himself,  long  ago,  the  perplexing 
questions  that  harassed  his  earlier  manhood,  —  or, 
rather,  dismissed  them  as  insolvable.  He  sought 
to  get  as  much  pleasure  out  of  life  as  was  possible. 
His  house  was  exquisitely  arranged  for  comfort. 
He  had  beautiful  pictures  on  his  walls,  his  cook 
was  a  chefvi\\o  left  little  to  be  imagined  in  the  way 
of  appetizing  dinners,  and  his  stables  were  among 
the  best  equipped  in  town.  He  followed  sedulously 
the  literature  and  drama  of  the  day,  in  his  own  and 
foreign  tongues,  ambitious  to  maintain  his  prestige 
as  one  well  versed  in  belles  lettres.  He  went  much 
into  society,  where  he  was  courted  for  the  graceful 
quality  of  his  bearing  and  conversation.  He  was 
considered  delightful,  —  by  women,  especially. 

And  yet  there  were  times  when  the  hours  palled, 
—  when,  in  fact,  life  seemed  stale  and  insipid.  He 
found  himself  less  easily  amused  than  formerly.  His 
zest  for  things  had  diminished.  He  had  become 
more  and  more  incapable  of  enthusiasm.  He  had 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  267 

read  everything.  Even  the  processes  of  money-mak 
ing  did  not  forcibly  appeal  to  him.  His  relations 
with  his  wife  had  scarcely  altered  since  a  year  ago. 
He  was  kind  to  her,  and  anxious  to  surround  her 
with  every  luxury.  It  pleased  him  to  have  her  culti 
vate  society,  and  figure  among  the  charming  women 
of  the  day.  But  between  them  there  was  no  sympa 
thy.  Isabel  bored  him.  It  was  impossible  for  him 
to  share  his  thoughts  with  her.  She  seemed  to  have 
recognized  this  of  late,ior  she  had  ceased  to  agitate 
him  with  appealing  glances  and  timid  complaints. 
Her  baby  absorbed  much  of  her  time  ;  and,  while 
harmonious,  husband  and  wife  went  their  respective 
ways. 

There  was,  however,  one  interest  that  continued 
to  engross  his  time  more  prominently  than  ever. 
His  attentions  to  Mrs.  Tom  Fielding  had  blossomed 
into  an  intimacy  which  had  not  failed  to  cause  com 
ment  in  society  circles.  They  had  been  seen  much 
together  at  parties  the  previous  winter,  and  latterly 
at  Newport. 

He  sat  this  afternoon  in  the  train,  whirling  along 
up  town,  leaning  forward  on  his  cane  held  between 
his  knees.  His  fashionable  dress,  with  all  its  re 
finements  of  close-fitting  gloves  and  dove-colored 
gaiters,  doubtless  stirred  the  discontent  of  a  dirty, 
rough-looking  fellow  opposite,  for  the  latter  scowled 
at  him  vindictively.  Stoughton,  scarcely  conscious 
of  being  the  object  of  the  other's  frown,  reflected,  in 
turn,  that  if  he  were  so  miserable  a  wretch  he  would 
blow  his  brains  out.  What  was  there  in  existence 
worth  clinging  to,  for  a  poor  devil  like  that  ?  His 


268  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

old  habit  of  speculation  and  theorizing  was  still 
sometimes  active,  and  had  acquired  a  deeper  tinge 
of  cynicism.  He  did  not  wonder  that  there  were 
Socialists.  Would  he  not  be  one  himself  if  he  was 
in  the  condition  of  his  neighbor  ?  But  it  was  the 
very  ignorance  of  the  miserable  classes,  and  their 
lack  of  insight  into  reality,  that  were  the  protection 
of  society.  Like  huge  beasts  of  burden,  they  were 
too  stupid  to  appreciate  their  own  strength.  What 
a  gigantic  mockery,  to  think  of  the  masses  cajoled 
into  submission  by  the  specious  superstition  of 
duty,  and  a  divine  command  !  Let  these  creatures 
but  learn  the  truth,  —  let  them  perceive,  as  he  per 
ceived,  the  irony  of  existence,  —  and  chaos  would 
come  again. 

Upon  alighting  from  the  train  he  went  into  the 
club  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  walked  up  Fifth 
Avenue.  He  rang  at  Mrs.  Fielding's  door.  She 
was  at  home,  the  servant  said  ;  and  as  he  entered 
the  parlor  she  rose  to  receive  him. 

"  How  do  you  do  to-day  ? "  said  he.  He  held  her 
hand  for  an  instant,  and  gazed  into  her  face. 

Mrs.  Fielding  resumed  her  seat  on  the  sofa,  and 
he  took  the  vacant  place  beside  her.  She  was 
dressed  to  go  out.  The  room  was  curtained,  so  as 
to  intercept  the  fullness  of  the  daylight,  and  sweet 
with  the  fragrance  of  flowers.  On  a  little  table 
near  by  was  a  basket  of  exquisite  hybrids,  toward 
which  she  turned  her  eyes  as  an  expression  of 
thanks  to  him  for  having  sent  them. 

She  had  been  sorry  to  read  in  the  papers  this 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  269 

morning  that  the  Democrats  had  nominated  Mr. 
Finchley.  "  Would  that  injure  your  chances  very 
much  ?  But  then,  you  know,"  she  continued  with 
a  smile,  "  your  gain  will  be  my  loss  ;  for  if  you  go 
to  Washington,  I  shall  never  see  you." 

She  stood  up  as  she  spoke,  and  led  the  way  to 
the  door ;  for  they  had  agreed  to  take  a  stroll  this 
afternoon. 

They  directed  their  steps  toward  the  Park,  which 
was  not  far  distant.  There  were  as  yet  compara 
tively  few  of  their  acquaintances  in  town,  and  it  was 
not  difficult  to  lose  themselves  among  the  by-paths 
of  that  large  pleasure-garden.  It  was  one  of  those 
lovely  days  in  early  October  when  Summer  seems 
to  cast  a  parting  glance  over  her  shoulder.  The 
foliage,  already  touched  by  the  brush  of  the  sterner 
season,  barely  stirred  in  the  balmy  stillness.  Birds 
hopped  about  the  grass.  The  ponds  glistened  cool 
and  tranquil,  alluring  loiterers  to  their  granite 
margins. 

They  walked  slowly,  and  with  that  sympathy  of 
manner  which  is  apt  to  be  a  part  of  the  bearing 
of  those  not  averse  to  giving  the  impression  of 
intimacy.  Stoughton,  in  speaking,  bent  a  little 
toward  his  companion,  who,  with  eyes  which  fol 
lowed  the  windings  of  the  path,  listened  pensively. 
Her  closed  sunshade  dangled  from  her  small,  neat 
hands,  and  undulated  with  the  movement  of  her 
skirt. 

Theirs  was  a  friendship  that  had  been  gathering 
force  from  day  to  day  through  many  months.  In 


2/0  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

Mrs.  Fielding  the  young  man  had  found  one  who 
was  able  to  understand  and  criticise  the  lines  of 
thought  most  interesting  to  him.  She  had  read 
much  in  a  superficial  way,  and  her  native  feminine 
cleverness  made  her  seem  to  know  more  than  she 
really  did.  Under  the  guise  of  literary  comment 
the  most  interesting  problems  of  humanity  present 
themselves  with  facility  for  discussion.  A  common 
ground  of  books  forms  an  attractive  basis  for  the 
introduction  of  the  philosophic  and  the  subjective. 

Of  what  was  she  thinking,  this  young  and  grace 
ful  woman,  as  she  sauntered  in  the  autumn  sun 
shine  by  the  side  of  him  who  was  not  her  husband, 
within  earshot  of  the  stir  of  that  society  whose  laws 
she  was  disregarding  ?  She  was  pondering,  as  so 
many  have  done  before  her,  upon  the  nature  of  the 
barrier  that  forbade  her  to  give  her  heart  to  this 
man,  for  whose  companionship  she  thirsted  as  the 
parched  soil  for  the  rain-cloud.  She  belonged  to 
another.  She  had  plighted  her  word  to  be  the 
pure  and  faithful  wife  of  one  whom  she  no  longer 
loved,  whose  very  presence  was  a  source  of  tedium 
to  her.  What  did  this  mean  ?  What  was  this  tie 
that  bound  her  to  a  being  with  whom  she  could  not 
sympathize,  —  the  so-called  law  of  marriage,  which 
prescribes  that  a  man  and  woman,  united  by  mutual 
vows,  shall  be  true  to  each  other  until  death  ?  A 
cruel,  unrelenting  law,  forsooth,  that  weighed  upon 
her  spirit  as  a  yoke  !  Whence  was  its  origin  ?  It 
was  the  law  of  God,  so  men  said.  Had  she  not 
herself  knelt  at  the  altar  and  invoked  the  blessing 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 


of  the  Almighty  on  her  troth  ?  Yes  ;  and  it  had 
not  prospered.  She  had  come  to  feel  aversion  for 
the  husband  she  had  sworn  to  love  and  honor  and 
obey.  Did  God  indeed  command  her  to  endure 
this  misery  for  the  rest  of  her  life  ?  What  was 
there,  after  all,  to  keep  her  from  the  arms  of  her 
lover,  but  a  convention  framed  by  men  for  the  con 
venience  of  society  ? 

To  renounce  the  darling  desire  of  her  heart 
meant  to  live  on  in  the  bondage  under  which 
she  writhed  to-day.  She  could  see  the  years  of 
her  future  stretching  out,  a  dry  and  dusty  road 
which  ended  with  the  grave.  She  knew  that  they 
would  have  in  store  for  her  the  hueless  monotony 
of  a  loveless  existence,  relieved  alone  by  the  conso 
lations  of  religion.  Their  joys  would  be  patience 
and  hope.  If  she  chose  this  second  path,  it  must 
be  for  the  sake  of  resistance,  and  because  she  be 
lieved  that  in  so  doing  she  fulfilled  the  will  of  God, 
and  that  he  required  it  of  her.  She  would  suffer 
in  this  world  in  the  faith  of  a  future  happiness. 

She  saw,  too,  in  the  pathway  of  her  desire  the 
disapproval  and  ban  of  society,  the  disgrace  which 
the  world  casts  upon  those  who  disobey  its  laws. 
But  why  should  she  care  for  the  world's  verdict  ? 
Would  that  be  able  to  rob  her  of  her  happiness  ? 
Would  she  not,  upon  the  bosom  of  him  she  adored, 
be  able  to  mock  its  cry  of  censure  ?  The  world  ! 
What  was  the  world  ?  If,  indeed,  it  was  true,  as 
she  had  learned  sometimes  to  suspect,  —  as  she  had 
heard  her  lover  whisper,  —  that  this  life  was  all, 


2/2  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

that  the  veiled  goal  which  bounded  those  two  paths 
was  the  darkness  of  annihilation,  why  should  she 
hesitate  ?  If  death  was  the  cessation  of  conscious 
being,  wherefore  should  she  not  pursue  her  hap 
piness  ?  Society  was  nought  to  her.  It  might 
crack  and  splinter  into  chaotic  fragments,  and  she 
would  not  care.  If  the  laws  of  right  and  wrong 
were  merely  a  code  to  save  the  world  from  anarchy, 
let  anarchy  come. 

She  knew  herself  to  be  one  endowed  with  the 
choicest  human  blessings.  Those  things  which 
mankind  prized  and  strove  for  most  were  hers  in 
profusion.  She  possessed  wealth  and  position.  Her 
face  and  form  were  very  beautiful.  She  could  per 
ceive  the  wide  gulf  that  separated  the  intelligence 
of  her  thoughts  from  the  struggling  masses  of  hu 
manity.  From  their  superstitions  and  vulgarities 
she  was  far  removed.  The  best  that  existence 
could  afford  to  woman  in  the  way  of  ambition  and 
pleasure  had  been  hers.  Her  life  seemed  to  lack 
but  one  essential  of  happiness,  and  that  lay  within 
her  grasp  if  she  but  willed.  Without  it,  existence 
was  a  curse.  What  was  this  tyrant  whose  mandate, 
"  Thou  shalt  not  do  this  thing,"  stood  between  her 
and  the  realization  of  bliss  ? 

Few  would  have  guessed  that  the  downcast  eyes 
and  coy  smile  of  Ethel  Fielding,  as  she  strolled 
under  the  tree-shade,  were  the  cloak  of  reflections 
which  shook  her  spirit  to  its  centre.  These  were 
questionings  which  had  been  her  companions  for 
many  days,  —  no  new  problem  evolved  by  the  charm 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  2/3 

of  the  hour.  But  even  as  the  bud  which  is  ripe  to 
unfold  awaits  the  breath  of  a  perfect  day  to  burst 
into  beauty,  so  the  moment  had  come  for  the  solu 
tion  of  that  unrest  with  which  her  bosom  was 
freighted.  Even  Fate  stays  for  opportunity. 

He  had  been  rambling  on  in  a  vein  of  philosoph 
ical  cynicism,  called  forth  by  the  incidents  of  the 
morning  ;  but  now  he  too  had  grown  silent,  and 
walked  thoughtfully,  twisting  the  ends  of  his  mus 
tache.  He  glanced  furtively  at  his  companion, 
and  his  shoulder  touched  hers  with  sympathetic 
pressure. 

They  had  reached  a  point  where  a  grassy  em 
brasure,  in  the  form  of  a  crescent,  bordered  the 
path.  The  space  had  been  cleared  to  accommodate 
a  stone  statue  of  a  sylvan  divinity  which  adorned 
its  centre,  and  at  one  side,  adjacent  to  the  shrub 
bery,  there  was  a  rustic  bench.  Mrs.  Fielding 
turned  her  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  latter. 

"  Let  us  sit  down,"  she  said. 

From  their  point  of  view  they  could  see  the  west 
ern  horizon,  glowing  through  a  tracery  of  leaves 
and  boughs.  It  was  a  sunset  in  keeping  with  the 
mellowness  of  the  day  that  was  dying,  for  the  dun 
of  the  autumn  cloud-banks  was  suffused  with  the 
silver  and  sapphire  of  summer  skies.  The  shadow 
of  the  goddess  trailed  across  the  grass. 

She  leaned  back  in  the  corner  of  the  bench,  while 
Stoughton,  bending  forward,  pierced  with  the  point 
of  his  cane  the  fallen  leaves  at  his  feet. 

"We  see  that  sunset,"  she  said  softly,  "as  we 

18 


2/4  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

see  happiness  in  this  world,  —  through  prison 
bars." 

The  young  man  turned  at  the  sound  of  her  voice. 
The  yellow  light  fell  on  her  face  and  glorified  its 
intensity.  She  sought  to  elude  his  gaze. 

"  Ethel,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  and  he  seized 
her  hand  with  a  passionate  grasp,  "  what  is  there 
to  prevent  us  from  loving  each  other  ? " 

The  words  that  he  spoke  were  as  the  echo  of  the 
thoughts  with  which  her  brain  was  throbbing. 

She  looked  up,  and  their  glances  met  in  a  blaze 
of  mutual  transport.  He  bent  forward  and  kissed 
her.  Even  at  the  moment  Woodbury  Stoughton 
was  conscious  that  the  feeling  he  entertained  for 
this  woman  was  a  passion  which  would  pall  with  the 
gratification  of  desire,  and  that  the  capability  of 
deep,  entrancing  love  was  no  longer  his. 

But  she,  unmindful  of  the  cold  light  in  his  eye, 
grasped  his  hand  with  both  of  hers.  "  My  God  ! " 
she  murmured  ecstatically  ;  and  then,  as  the  import 
of  her  phrase  forced  itself  upon  her,  "  No,  no  ;  thou 
art  my  god  for  ever  and  ever." 

This  same  afternoon  Isabel  Stoughton  had  or 
dered  her  victoria.  She  felt  the  need  of  a  little 
fresh  air,  for  the  illness  of  baby  had  confined  her 
to  the  house  the  last  few  days.  She  had  not,  in 
fact,  driven  out  before  since  returning  to  town,  and 
it  exhilarated  her  to  be  once  more  in  the  midst  of 
the  city's  bustle.  Leaning  back  against  the  cush 
ions,  she  took  in  with  enjoyment  the  familiar  sights 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  2/5 

of  the  streets,  and  observed  the  changes  that  had 
occurred  during  her  absence.  Now  and  then  the 
lifted  hat  of  some  acquaintance,  whom  she  had  not 
seen  all  summer,  would  bring  a  gladsome  smile  to 
her  face. 

Her  months  at  Newport  had  not  been  especially 
happy.  The  cares  of  her  household  and  the  whirl 
of  gayety  in  which  she  was  immersed  had  not,  to 
be  sure,  left  her  much  leisure  for  scrutinizing  her 
emotions  ;  but  she  had  ever  been  conscious  of  a 
certain  wound  about  the  heart,  which  was  none  the 
less  real  because  she  did  not  pause  to  poultice  it. 
The  glamour  of  wealth,  and  the  knowledge  that  she 
was  admired  and  courted  were  paltry  compensation 
in  her  eyes  for  the  indifference  of  her  husband. 
She  had  come  by  degrees  to  perceive  the  futility  of 
her  efforts  to  win  him  back  to  her  by  appealing  to 
his  sensibility.  Pride,  too,  stepped  in  to  fortify  her 
conclusions  in  this  regard,  and  she  had  ceased  to 
intrude  herself  upon  him.  She  no  longer  ques 
tioned  him  concerning  his  plans  and  ambitions,  nor 
allowed  solicitude  for  the  success  of  his  undertak 
ings  to  betray  itself  in  her  behavior. 

And  yet  she  had  not  brought  herself  to  admit 
that  Woodbury  no  longer  loved  her.  She  found 
excuses  and  explanations  for  his  neglect  in  the 
multitude  of  the  demands  upon  his  time,  and  in 
her  own  deficiencies.  She  realized  more  vividly 
every  day  how  lacking  she  was  in  those  qualities 
which  fit  one  to  be  an  agreeable  companion  to  a 
man  of  his  ability.  She  was  proud  of  him,  too.  His 


276  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

success  was  balm  to  her  wounded  feelings.  He 
was  at  least  her  husband.  He  belonged  to  her ; 
and  his  triumphs  were  in  a  certain  sense  hers. 
If  she  only  persevered  and  showed  him  how  deeply 
she  loved  him,  the  time  would  come  when  he  would 
recognize  this,  and  all  would  be  happy  in  her  life 
once  more. 

To  humor  him  she  had  gone  much  into  society, 
and  tried  to  find  pleasure  and  distraction  in  the 
amusements  of  the  gay  watering-place.  There  were 
moments  even  when  she  felt  the  thrill  of  pleasure 
at  the  manifest  admiration  which  she  inspired.  She 
was  conscious  of  progress  as  regards  the  graces  of 
fashionable  life.  Her  lapses  in  conventionalities 
were  no  longer  conspicuous.  She  had  begun  to 
suspect  that  perhaps,  after  all,  she  was  able  to  com 
pete  in  intelligence  with  the  contemporaries  of  her 
own  sex.  Had  not  her  father  often  told  her  that 
she  ought  to  have  been  born  a  boy,  she  had  such 
a  good  head  for  figures?  Patience,  patience !  All 
would  yet  be  well,  and  he  would  love  her. 

Such  was  the  burden  of  her  thoughts  as  she 
rolled  over  the  pavements  in  her  comfortable  victo 
ria,  up  Fifth  Avenue  and  to  the  gates  of  the  Park. 
It  would  be  lovely  in  the  Park  this  afternoon ! 

"  Drive  on,"  she  said  to  the  servant,  who  turned 
to  inquire  if  she  wished  to  enter. 

As  she  drove  through  the  gateway,  a  stylish  dog 
cart  passed  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  its  occu 
pant  raised  his  hat  pleasantly.  It  was  Mr.  Tom 
Fielding. 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  277 

The  incident  clouded  for  a  little  the  current  of 
her  hopefulness,  for  the  stories  of  her  husband's 
attentions  to  the  wife  of  this  man  came  to  mind. 
She  had  always  striven,  when  her  stepmother  made 
insinuations  of  the  kind,  to  banish  the  tales  as  un 
worthy  of  credence.  There  could  be  no  foundation 
for  them.  Of  course  Woodbury  was  a  friend  of 
Mrs.  Fielding,  and  enjoyed  her  society.  Their 
intimacy  was  a  pleasant  diversion,  —  that  was  all. 
Did  she  herself  not  see  them  together,  and  under 
stand  their  relation  to  each  other  ? 

These  were  the  replies  with  which  Isabel  was 
wont  to  allay  the  suspicions  of  Mrs.  Idlewild ;  but 
the  pain  in  her  own  heart,  it  is  needless  to  say, 
found  little  solace  therefrom.  Still  she  would 
not  believe  that  he  was  false  to  her.  It  could  not 
be.  He  was  too  honest,  too  good,  too  kind  for 
that.  She  did  him  wrong  to  suspect  him  even; 
she  was  unreasonable.  He  was  simply  amusing 
himself.  Mrs.  Fielding  was  charming  and  clever. 
A  great  many  people  in  society  carried  on  little 
flirtations  of  this  sort,  which  were  completely  harm 
less.  She  would  put  the  idea  of  anything  else 
out  of  her  mind.  Still,  the  circumstance  that  Mr. 
Fielding  and  she  should  each  be  alone  threw  a 
shade  of  melancholy  over  her  previously  buoyant 
mood,  that  she  could  not  wholly  dispel.  Was  he 
unhappy  too  ?  she  wondered.  People  said  he  was 
very  fond  of  his  wife,  but  that  she  did  not  care  for 
him.  He  had  a  pleasant  face,  —  a  little  grave  and 
heavy-looking,  though.  He  was  not  nearly  as  hand- 


2/8  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

some  as  Woodbury.  Where  was  Woodbury  this 
afternoon  ?  Probably  worrying  over  his  canvass. 
How  base  of  those  Reformers  to  treat  him  so,  after 
all  his  brave  conduct! 

She  was  winding  along  the  smooth  Park  roads, 
bounded  on  either  side  by  a  stretch  of  close-clipped 
green.  The  populace  were  enjoying  the  charming 
weather,  loitering  about  the  grass  and  watching 
the  demeanor  of  the  bears  and  other  zoological 
specimens  collected  by  the  City  Fathers  for  their 
amusement.  Her  carriage  skirted  the  margins  of 
ponds  dotted  with  the  tiny  white-winged  ships  of 
children  whose  merry  laughter  formed  a  comple 
ment  to  the  golden  sunshine.  Now  leaving  behind 
the  more  frequented  portions  of  the  garden,  she 
found  herself  passing  through  gentle  undulations 
of  knoll  and  dale.  A  brace  of  tame  deer  stared 
out  at  her  unconcernedly  from  an  adjacent  thicket, 
wrinkling  their  noses  superciliously.  The  sward 
here  and  there  was  gay  with  dandelions,  the  final 
largess  of  the  departed  season. 

"  Thomas,  you  may  stop.  Wait  for  me  here, 
please." 

The  fancy  had  seized  her  that  she  would  stroll 
a  little.  She  alighted  from  the  victoria,  and  fol 
lowed  the  bendings  of  a  footpath  which  led  under 
the  trees.  The  woods  and  fields  of  her  New  Eng 
land  home  had  nurtured  in  her  a  keen  love  of  na 
ture,  and  made  her  alive  to  beauties  that  escape 
the  uncultivated  eye. 

Suddenly  she   gave  a  gesture   of   delight,  and, 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  279 

stooping  on  one  knee,  plunged  her  fingers  among 
the  herbage  that  bordered  the  path.  She  plucked 
therefrom  a  sprig  of  green,  which  she  turned  about 
as  if  to  make  sure  of  its  character.  It  was  a  four- 
leaved  clover,  a  badge  of  sentiment  dear  to  rustic 
imaginations.  As  she  gazed  on  the  prize  her  eyes 
became  soft  with  reverie,  and  a  smile  of  content 
parted  the  ruddy  lips.  It  seemed  to  her  an  augury 
of  hope  for  the  future,  suggesting  an  end  to  all  her 
difficulties. 

She  was  on  the  point  of  rising  from  her  kneeling 
posture,  when  her  lifted  glance  became  suddenly 
riveted  by  a  sight  discerned  through  the  shrubbery. 
She  gave  a  start ;  and  a  look  of  mingled  horror 
and  anguish,  succeeded  by  the  flush  of  rage,  came 
over  her  face.  She  had  seen,  across  the  screen  of 
foliage,  her  husband's  lips  touch  those  of  Mrs. 
Fielding. 

Isabel  started  to  her  feet,  and  stood  with  wild, 
dazed  eyes,  her  hand  pressed  against  her  heart  as 
if  to  stay  its  fierce  beating.  Once  she  turned, 
designing  to  burst  through  the  leafy  barrier  and 
confound  their  sin  with  her  presence  ;  but,  realizing 
perhaps  the  paltry  satisfaction  to  be  won  from  such 
a  scene,  she  left  the  spot,  and  retraced  her  steps  to 
the  carriage. 

She  managed  to  control  herself  sufficiently  to 
tell  the  man  to  drive  straight  home.  She  lay  back 
with  shut  eyes,  powerless  to  think.  The  shades  of 
twilight  were  already  deepening,  the  throng  of 
loiterers  had  vanished,  and  a  gray  mist  which 


280  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

hugged  the  earth  was  creeping  over  the  Park.  The 
air  was  full  of  the  shrill  whistles  of  the  city's  work 
shops  marking  the  close  of  toil.  But  all  she  was 
conscious  of  was  that  ghastly  .picture  of  the  lovers 
sitting  side  by  side,  with  passion  in  their  eyes, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  sylvan  goddess. 

The  carriage  jolted  over  the  pavements,  and 
through  the  glare  of  the  streets  already  flickering 
with  artificial  light.  As  she  reached  the  house  a 
servant,  who  had  been  on  the  lookout,  came  run 
ning  down  the  steps  as  if  to  intercept  her. 

"  Excuse  me,  ma'am  ;  but  they  Ve  just  sent  word 
from  the  other  house  that  Mr.  Idlewild  is  ill." 

"  What,  my  father  ?  —  ill  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  gasped  the  man,  who  was  trem 
bling  at  the  effect  of  his  words  ;  "  the  messenger 
said  he  had  been  took  with  a  fit,  and  that  you  were 
to  go  there  the  moment  you  got  back." 

"  Very  well.  Tell  Thomas  to  drive  as  fast  as 
possible." 

Her  brain  swam  with  the  terror  that  had  seized 
upon  her.  Up  to  this  moment  bewilderment  and 
rage  had  blinded  her  to  the  hopelessness  of  her 
misery ;  but  this  new  blow  was  easier  to  realize. 
There  was  no  room  for  uncertainty  as  to  its  char 
acter.  Her  father,  her  dear  father,  sick,  —  perhaps 
dead,  —  and  she  not  with  him. 

Mrs.  Idlewild  met  her  at  the  door. 

"  What  is  it  ?     What  is  the  matter  with  pa  ?  " 

"  Your  father  has  had  an  attack,  dear.  He  fell 
in  the  hall  just  as  he  was  going  out,  two  hours 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  28 1 

ago,"  said  the  elder  woman,  gravely.     "  The  doctor 
says  it  is  apoplexy." 

"  Is  it  serious  ?     Is  he  alive  ? "  Isabel  faltered. 

"  Yes,  dear,  he  is  alive.  You  may  go  to  him  if 
you  like." 

As  she  entered  the  sick-chamber  she  would  fain 
have  fallen  upon  her  knees  and  covered  the  beloved 
face  with  kisses,  but  an  instant's  glance  deterred 
her  from  impetuosity.  The  room  was  only  dimly 
lighted.  A  man,  whom  she  recognized  to  be  a 
physician,  was  standing  over  the  bed,  and  turned 
with  a  serious  bow  at  her  approach.  Her  father 
lay  unconscious,  and  convulsed  with  stertorous 
breathing,  his  countenance  of  a  livid  'purple  hue. 
She  stooped  and  touched  her  lips  to  his  forehead. 
It  was  plain  he  could  recognize  no  one. 

"  Will  he  get  well  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  the  doctor ;  but  his  tone  was 
simply  neutral.  She  sat  down  and  held  in  hers  the 
hand  resting  upon  the  counterpane.  A  muffled 
cough  directed  her  eyes  to  the  recesses  of  the 
chamber,  where  the  outline  of  a  woman's  figure 
was  visible.  It  must  be  the  nurse.  The  idea  of 
any  one  but  herself  watching  beside  her  father 
filled  her  with  repugnance. 

Her  stepmother  entered  the  room  and  advanced 
to  where  she  sat. 

"  I  will  take  care  of  pa.  He  would  not  like  to 
have  a  stranger  near  him,"  the  girl  whispered,  al 
most  defiantly. 

"  Certainly,  dear.     You  shall  stay  if  you  wish." 


282  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

The  physician  turned  to  Mrs.  Idlewild.  "  There 
is  nothing  more  to  be  done  to-night.  I  have  given 
Mrs.  Barker  the  necessary  instructions.  I  trust  he 
may  be  better  in  the  morning."  He  bowed  and 
withdrew. 

Who  does  not  know  the  weariness  of  watching  ? 
Through  that  long  night,  and  for  many  days  and 
nights,  Isabel  sat  by  her  father's  bedside.  The 
morning  brought  but  little  change.  The  symptoms 
were  grave  ;  so  the  doctors  said  who  met  in  con 
sultation  ;  but  then,  too,  the  patient  had  an  iron 
grasp  on  life.  No  one  could  foretell  the  result. 

Upon  that  first  evening  the  young  wife  had  sent 
word  that  she  should  not  return  home.  Her  fa 
ther,  she  said,  was  too  ill  for  her  to  leave.  Wood- 
bury  came  in  to  inquire  as  to  his  condition,  but  she 
let  her  mother  see  him.  The  next  day  she  took  up 
her  quarters  here  completely,  never  going  from  the 
house  except  for  a  little  while  in  the  morning  to 
visit  her  baby  when  her  husband  was  down  town. 
She  was  satisfied  that  he  would  not  complain  of  her 
desertion. 

She  was  undergoing  the  terrible  ordeal  of  facing 
the  inevitable.  During  the  silent  watches  of  the 
night  there  was  time,  and  to  spare,  for  reflection. 
As  the  bewilderment  and  stunned  sensation  of  the 
first  days  wore  off,  she  realized  the  misery  of  her 
situation.  The  future  seemed  to  promise  nothing 
but  unhappiness. 

She  reviewed  in  her  mind  the  entire  course  of 
her  life.  She  could  see  that  all  her  being  had  been 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  283 

centred  in  two  persons.  Upon  her  father  first,  and 
then  upon  her  husband,  the  wealth  of  her  nature 
had  been  poured  out.  She  had  loved  them  with 
her  whole  heart ;  that  had  been  life  to  her  ;  and 
now  at  one  stroke  both  had  been  taken  away ! 

Wherefore  should  this  be  ?  What  had  she  done 
to  deserve  this  ?  She  experienced  now,  for  the  first 
time,  an  awful  sense  of  wonderment  as  to  the  sig 
nification  of  life.  It  had  seemed  before  so  natural 
to  live.  The  mere  delight  of  having  these  two  to 
twine  her  heart  about  had  sufficed  to  make  her 
glory  in  existence ;  just  as  a  flower  lifts  its  head 
toward  the  sun,  nor  asks  the  reason  why.  But  now 
the  barrenness  of  the  years  to  come  stretched  out 
before  her  like  a  waste  of  arid  sand. 

She,  as  all  children  in  Christian  countries,  had 
been  taught  that  there  is  a  God  who  made  her,  and 
that  she  should  love  and  worship  him.  She  had 
gone  to  church  with  the  rest,  and  tried  to  realize 
the  meaning  of  what  she  heard  there.  But  so  great 
was  her  vitality  that  the  mere  fact  of  living  had 
seemed  enough  for  her.  She  had  been  at  a  loss  to 
understand  what  people  meant  by  loving  God  with 
all  their  hearts.  She  had  heard  and  read  that  this 
life  is  but  a  state  of  discipline  to  prepare  mortals 
for  another  world,  and  that  one  should  beware  of 
too  great  centring  of  the  affection  on  human 
things  ;  but  the  force  of  such  expressions  had  been 
lost  upon  her. 

She  remembered  them  now.  They  came  back 
to  her  as  she  sat  by  her  dying  father's  side,  groping 


284  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

in  the  darkness  of  her  agony  for  some  escape  from 
despair.  Was  it  then  true  that  she  had  been  put 
into  the  world  to  be  tortured,  —  true  that  an  all- 
wise  Heavenly  Father  had  given  her  the  power  of 
affection,  in  order  through  it  to  bruise  and  trample 
upon  her  heart,  under  the  plea  of  discipline  ?  Disci 
pline  !  why  did  she  need  discipline  ?  Was  it  wrong 
of  her  to  have  loved  these  dear  ones  so  deeply  ? 
Wrong  !  She  could  not  help  loving  them.  It  was 
her  nature  to  do  so.  And  yet  it  was  necessary  to 
chastise  her.  Human  creatures  were  born  full  of 
sin,  and  were  purified  through  suffering.  She  ought 
to  submit  herself  to  the  divine  will.  Being  purged 
in  the  fire,  she  would  grow  in  grace  and  become 
reconciled  with  God.  The  recurrence  of  the  oft- 
heard  phrases  of  religion  struck  her  with  abhorrence. 
They  seemed  to  her  a  ghastly  conceit.  The  sole 
comfort  they  held  out  to  her  agonized  heart  was 
the  pitiful  explanation  that  it  was  all  for  the  best. 
The  best !  Whose  best  ?  It  could  not  be  for  hers, 
for  she  wished  no  better  happiness  than  that  which 
she  had  known.  Oh,  why  had  she  ever  been  born  ? 

One  evening,  about  three  weeks  after  Mr.  Idle- 
wild  had  been  taken  ill,  Isabel  was  sitting  in  his 
room,  as  usual.  She  and  the  nurse  divided  the  time 
of  watching  between  them.  The  invalid  had  made 
but  little  progress  ;  in  fact,  the  doctors  had  warned 
the  family  that  the  worst  was  to  be  expected. 
Nevertheless,  he  had  appeared  better  during  the 
past  twenty-four  hours,  or  rather  had  shown  some 
indications  of  returning  consciousness.  The  old 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  285 

man  had  seemed  once  to  recognize  his  daughter's 
face  bending  over  him,  for  he  had  smiled  and  faintly 
pressed  her  hand.  He  articulated  excitedly  at 
times  ;  it  was  plain  that  he  fancied  himself  once 
more  the  manager  of  a  circus.  Mrs.  Idlewild  had 
seen  fit  to  send  for  a  clergyman.  Her  husband 
might  at  any  moment  regain  his  senses,  and  she 
expressed  herself  as  old-fashioned  enough  to  desire 
that  he  should  have  the  consolations  of  religion  at 
the  last. 

It  was  a  warm  evening  ;  and  Isabel,  weary  with 
her  watch,  had  fallen  asleep  for  a  few  minutes. 
She  awoke  with  a  start  of  self-reproach,  which  was 
allayed  upon  finding  her  father  resting  quietly.  As 
she  composed  herself  once  more  in  her  seat,  she 
became  aware  of  noises —  that  resembled  the  cheers 
of  a  crowd  —  coming  up  from  the  street  below, 
through  the  window,  a  crack  of  which  was  open. 
She  approached,  and  peered  between  the  cur 
tain  and  the  pane.  The  banker's  house  was 
so  situated  as  to  command  from  the  bay-window 
a  view  of  the  neighboring  Square.  The  young 
woman  was  surprised  at  the  sight  of  a  vast  sea  of 
people  flooding  the  pavements  and  the  adjacent 
park,  which  was  bright  with  the  glare  of  electric 
lights.  The  gaze  of  this  throng  seemed  to  be  turned 
in  a  particular  direction,  and  every  now  and  then  a 
jubilant  and  almost  savage  yell  caused  their  heads 
to  sway  like  a  forest.  Isabel  opened  the  sash  and 
stepped  out  upon  the  balcony.  As  she  turned  her 
head  her  eyes  encountered  the  blank  side  of  a  broad 


286  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

building,  upon  which  a  stereopticon  threw  a  large 
white  disk.  At  the  moment  an  advertisement  of  a 
popular  organ  factory  was  visible  on  its  surface  ; 
but  suddenly  this  was  withdrawn  from  view,  and  an 
election  despatch  substituted  in  its  place,  which 
read :  "  Utica  gives  Doubleday  1,600  majority." 
Straightway  the  voices  of  the  multitude  rose  in 
another  mighty  cry  of  triumph,  which  seemed  to 
shake  the  earth,  as  it  came  over  Isabel  that  this 
was  the  night  after  the  State  election. 

In  the  distress  of  the  past  weeks  she  had  lost 
all  account  of  time.  The  circumstance  of  her  hus 
band's  canvass  had  never  once  occurred  to  her  ;  but 
now  she  found  herself  leaning  forward  with  eager 
ness  to  learn  the  result.  She  recalled  how  indig 
nant  she  had  been  at  the  action  of  the  Civil  Service 
Reformers  in  throwing  over  Woodbury  ;  and,  as 
she  stood  there  watching  the  successive  returns, 
she  could  not  help  wondering  if  she  might  not  have 
been  deceived  about  him  in  this  respect  also.  But 
this  was  only  for  a  moment.  Her  love  was  stronger 
than  her  doubts,  for  she  felt  her  heart  beating  with 
the  throb  of  suspense,  —  a  suspense  that  was 
freighted  with  longings  for  his  success.  She  hoped 
he  would  win;  it  would  make  him  so  unhappy  to 
be  defeated.  It  was  his  darling  ambition  to  go  to 
Congress. 

She  was  familiar  enough  with  the  politics  of  the 
day  to  perceive  from  the  returns  that  the  Demo 
crats  were  making  vast  gains  all  over  the  State  and 
country.  Town  after  town  showed  majorities  in 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  287 

favor  of  the  party  out  of  power.  The  fever  of  dis 
satisfaction  with  the  party  in  power  had  spread  to 
such  a  degree  that  it  was  becoming  evident  a  no 
torious  demagogue  and  trickster  had  been  elected 
Governor  of  a  neighboring  Commonwealth,  —  a  fact 
which  seemed  to  tickle  the  humor  of  the  crowds, 
for  they  roared  with  laughter  at  every  additional 
indication  of  his  success  as  if  it  were  a  huge  joke. 
"  A  tidal  wave  has  struck  us ! "  shouted  some  en 
thusiastic  individual,  and  the  vast  throng  took 
up  the  cry  with  a  cheer.  In  the  intervals  of 
the  despatches  the  heads  of  various  well-known 
politicians  were  thrown  upon  the  disk,  to  be  greeted, 
as  the  case  might  be,  with  applause  or  groans.  In 
many  instances  these  appeared  upside  down. 

Suddenly,  after  a  little  interval  in  the  proceed 
ings,  she  was  startled  at  seeing  her  husband's  face 
in  the  luminous  frame,  side  by  side  with  one  which 
she  recognized  to  be  that  of  his  rival,  Finchley. 
The  countenance  of  neither  was  sufficiently  famil 
iar  to  call  forth  much  enthusiasm  from  the  popu 
lace  ;  but  as  it  were  in  a  flash  they  melted  away, 
and  in  their  stead  she  saw  a  bulletin  which  caused 
her  blood  to  bound  ;  and  on  the  instant  a  fierce 
yell  of  delight,  in  which  the  name  of  Finchley  was 
discernible,  startled  the  night.  She  grasped  the 
railing  for  support,  and  gazed  at  the  inscription 
which,  written  in  a  florid  hand,  read  :  "  Returns 
from  twenty  wards  give  Finchley  (Dem.  &  Ind.) 
1,700  majority  for  Congress." 

Isabel  gave  a  shiver,  and  turned  back  into  the 


288  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

room.  As  she  advanced  she  became  aware  of  a 
figure  standing  on  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  —  a 
man's  figure  clothed  in  canonicals.  He  was  look 
ing  down  at  the  face  on  the  pillow  ;  and  something 
in  his  bearing  must  have  excited  her  apprehension, 
for  she  rushed  forward  and  bent  over  the  couch. 
She  uttered  an  ejaculation,  and  seized  eagerly  the 
hand  upon  the  coverlid,  as  if  to  convince  herself 
that  her  fear  was  groundless.  Then  with  a  terrible 
cry,  "  He  is  dead  !  he  is  dead  !  "  she  buried  her  face 
in  the  blankets. 

She  looked  up  presently,  at  a  gentle  touch  upon 
her  shoulder.  The  stranger  was  standing  over  her 
with  a  look  of  compassion  on  his  priestly  counte 
nance. 

He  held  out  his  hands  to  her :  "  God  will  comfort 
you,  my  daughter." 

"  No,  no ! "  she  cried,  with  a  gesture  of  shrink 
ing, —  "not  that." 

Her  tone  had  a  harsh  ring,  like  that  of  the  old 
man  upon  the  bed.  She  went  to  the  other  side  of 
the  room  and  sat  down.  Presently  the  door  opened 
and  a  woman  entered.  It  was  Mrs.  Idlewild.  Said 
Isabel  in  a  firm,  hard  voice :  "  He  is  dead  !  " 


XIV. 

THE  spring  following  the  death  of  Peter  Idle- 
wild  witnessed  the  departure  of  his  widow 
for  Paris  to  join  her  step-son  Jack,  who  was  al 
ready  established  in  the  "  Latin  quarter "  of  that 
attractive  city,  with  the  design  of  acquiring  a 
knowledge  of  French.  The  next  steamer  carried 
across  the  Atlantic  Woodbury  Stoughton,  whom 
the  newspapers  referred  to  as  "  desirous  of  a  short 
sojourn  in  foreign  parts  after  the  fatigues  of  the 
recent  canvass."  The  will  of  the  late  banker  had 
made  no  provision  for  his  son-in-law,  and  rumor 
declared  him  to  be  somewhat  straiteaed  pecuni 
arily.  The  day  after  he  had  sailed,  however,  it 
was  announced  that  his  wife  had  entered  a  libel 
against  him  for  divorce.  She  had  never  returned 
to  her  own  home  since  the  dreadful  evening  upon 
which  she  lost  both  husband  and  father. 

There  is  a  room  in  one  of  Europe's  picturesque 
ruins  known  as  the  Chamber  of  the  Grand  Duch 
ess,  from  the  broad  window-seat  of  which  the  vis 
itor  looks  down  upon  and  over  the  blue  waters  of 
Lake  Geneva.  It  is  the  upper  room  in  the  famous 
castle  of  Chillon  ;  and  so  lovely  is  the  prospect 
therefrom  across  the  broad  expanse,  —  which, 

19 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 


whether  ruffled  or  peaceful,  is  never  long  the  same, 
—  that  the  traveller,  lost  in  admiration,  forgets  the 
horrors  of  the  dungeon  beneath,  with  its  low-sweep 
ing  columns  and  worn  stone  floor,  where  Bonni- 
vard  and  others  languished  for  years,  fettered  to 
the  iron  rings  which  yet  are  visible.  As,  with  the 
approach  of  twilight,  the  mountains  seem  to  de 
scend  and  group  themselves  like  giant  guardians 
about  the  lake,  one  even  forgets  for  a  moment  that 
ghastly  oubliette  which  yawns  below,  but  encircled 
by  a  railing,  as  though  to  deter  the  fascinated 
tourist  from  seeking  to  investigate  the  reality  of 
the  missing  fourth  step,  the  sheer  descent,  the 
knives,  the  silent  watery  tomb.  Where  nature  is 
so  beautiful,  it  seems  impossible  that  man  could 
have  been  so  cruel. 

It  was  on  the  window-seat  of  this  ruined  Cham 
ber  of  the  Grand  Duchess  that  Ethel  Fielding  was 
resting  one  afternoon  in  the  early  summer.  Her 
husband  was  in  Paris  on  business,  and  she  was 
sitting  there  alone.  The  idlers  of  Lausanne  would 
no  longer  have  occasion  to  wonder  what  the  rela 
tions  might  be  between  the  pretty,  charmingly 
dressed  American  and  her  fellow  countryman,  who 
was  at  this  moment  on  his  way  to  London. 

It  was  a  lovely  afternoon.  Earlier  the  wind  and 
clouds  had  been  rampant,  but  the  water  had  re 
gained  its  deep,  tranquil  blue,  and  the  lights  and 
shadows  of  the  Dent  du  Midi  were  beautiful  to 
behold. 

But  she  who  looked  out  over  the  lake's  calm  sur- 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  291 

face  had  no  peace  in  her  heart.  Her  face  was  pale 
as  the  snow  in  the  angle  of  a  mountain  where  the 
sun's  rays  do  not  fall.  The  man  for  whom  she  had 
sacrificed  truth  and  virtue  had  a  few  hours  ago  ac 
knowledged  that  he  no  longer  loved  her.  She  had 
guessed  this  secret  many  days  before,  but  just  now 
he  had  confessed  it  at  her  asking.  It  was  foolish 
of  her,  so  he  said,  to  have  followed  him  to  Europe, 
and  he  had  been  unwise  to  humor  her  by  coming  to 
Switzerland.  He  had  lost  money,  —  large  sums  of 
money,  —  and  must  return  home  to  regulate  his 
affairs.  Thus  had  they  parted. 

There  are  worse  fates  than  the  oubliette,  for  all 
its  missing  fourth  step  and  pointed  knives,  to  im 
pale  the  victim  of  the  sheer  descent ;  and  man  has 
the  power  to  be  even  more  cruel  to-day  than  in  the 
distant  century  when  the  duchess,  gazed  from  her 
chamber  window  over  the  same  expanse  of  water, 
lying  blue  and  placid  in  the  shadow  of  the  eternal 
mountains. 

Meanwhile  Eugene  Finchley,  now  the  Honorable 
Eugene  Finchley,  had  been  winning  golden  opin 
ions  for  himself.  He  had  behaved  better  than  any 
one  would  have  imagined,  considering  his  previous 
training, — so  said  the  Reform  element,  whose  coali 
tion  with  the  Democrats  had  obtained  him  his  elec 
tion.  The  politicians  were  becoming  impatient,  and 
there  were  many  to  sympathize  with  Mr.  Alderman 
O'Rourke  in  his  pathetic  query,  "What  will  the 
harvest  be  ?  "  It  even  had  begun  to  be  whispered 
there  was  to  be  no  harvest  at  all. 


2Q2  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

Eugene  Finchley's  courtship  of  Isabel  had  been 
silent,  but  terribly  genuine.  Then  perhaps  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  had  begun  to  realize  his 
own  deficiencies.  After  that  evening  at  Newport, 
when  his  hopes  of  happiness  seemed  to  him  forever 
dashed  to  the  ground,  he  had  for  some  months 
wooed  vehemently  his  quondam  goddesses,  of  whom 
la  veuve  Clicquot  was  the  most  celebrated.  But 
even  while  he  drove  his  dog-cart  and  gave  gorgeous 
suppers  to  the  artists  of  the  stage  in  the  guise  of  a 
dissipated  good-for-nothing,  he  had  not  been  able 
to  close  his  ears  to  the  whisper  of  the  nobler  aspi 
rations  which  his  now  futile  love  had  quickened 
into  being.  Presently  he  had  sobered  down  again, 
and  with  a  heavy  heart  taken  up  the  routine  of  a 
money-making  life.  Men  pronounced  him  changed, 
—  quieter,  so  they  said  ;  while  the  politicians  won 
dered  at  his  squeamishness  regarding  measures  at 
which  he  had  in  the  old  days  never  been  known  to 
bolt. 

And  yet,  when  this  has  been  said,  the  excuse  of  a 
deficient  early  training  was  one  he  sadly  needed  to 
invoke  as  a  target  against  shafts  of  criticism.  The 
sole  claim  he  has  upon  our  human  esteem  and  sym 
pathy  is  the  fact  that  his  heart  was  not  wholly  ren 
dered  callous  by  the  life  it  was  his  lot  to  lead.  If 
in  his  partial  appreciation  of  his  lack  of  culture  he 
may  have  felt  a  pang  at  times  at  recalling  the  low 
standards  of  a  father  whose  moral  vitality  had  been 
exhausted  by  efforts  to  resist  the  temptation  to  give 
short  weight  in  his  capacity  as  a  country  grocer,  or 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  293 

the  ignorance  of  a  mother  whose  solicitude  for  her 
son's  welfare  did  not  extend  to  the  modulation  of 
the  voice  or  decorous  table  manners,  still  old  age 
was  made  bearable  for  his  parents  by  the  handsome 
gifts  he  sent.  So,  too,  the  ardor  of  his  love  for 
Isabel  is  a  trait  that  prompts  us  to  mitigate  the 
severity  of  our  judgments  in  his  regard.  Of  all  the 
friends  of  Mrs.  Stoughton  there  was  no  one  whose 
sympathy  for  her  afflictions  was  more  genuine  than 
his.  Before  taking  his  departure  for  Washington, 
he  wrote  her  a  letter  in  which  the  expression  of  his 
concern  for  her  sorrow  was  supplemented  by  a  few 
words  to  imply  how  deep  had  been  the  impression 
on  his  own  nature  of  the  influence  of  their  former 
friendship.  It  was  the  laconic  letter  of  a  business 
man  ;  but  she  to  whom  it  was  addressed  read  be 
tween  the  lines  what  was  left  unwritten. 

Arthur  Remington  had  leased  a  small  house  in 
the  suburbs  of  New  York,  —  a  half-hour's  ride  in 
the  train  from  the  city. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  would  n't  come  to  us  after  a 
little.  The  change  would  help  her,  perhaps." 
So  said  his  wife,  Dorothy,  one  day,  a  few  weeks 
after  the  death  of  Mr.  Idlewild.  Isabel  had  been 
much  in  their  thoughts  of  late,  so  wretched  did 
her  fate  appear  beside  their  own  great  happiness. 

About  a  month  later,  Remington  came  home  one 
evening  looking  very  thoughtful. 

"  Dorothy,"  he  said,  "  Mrs.  Stoughton  de 
clines  to  see  her  husband  any  more ;  in  fact,  she 
has  applied  for  a  divorce.  She  came  to  me  for 


294  AN   AVERAGE   MAN. 

advice  as  to  a  lawyer,  and  I  sent  her  to  John 
Ferguson." 

"  But  did  n't  you  try  to  dissuade  her  ?  Oh,  Ar 
thur,  divorces  are  such  dreadful  things.  There  will 
be  such  a  scandal." 

"  I  know  it.  I  represented  all  that  to  her,  but 
my  words  produced  no  effect.  She  had  evidently 
thought  the  matter  out,  and  was  determined. 
I  've  asked  her  to  come  and  pass  a  few  days  with 
us.  You  know  you  spoke  of  doing  so." 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad  you  did.  Perhaps  we  can 
persuade  her  to  change  her  mind.  And  she  is 
coming  ?  " 

"  Yes.  She  is  terribly  altered,  Dorothy.  She 
looks  worn,  and  ten  years  older.  When  I  impressed 
upon  her  that  she  ought  at  least  to  consider  her 
child,  she  tightened  her  lips,  —  you  remember  her 
father's  expression  ;  it  made  me  think  of  him,  — 
and  said, '  I  loved  that  man  with  all  my  heart.  He 
has  wronged  me,  and  I  will  never  see  him  again. 
I  do  not  wish  to  bear  his  name.'  " 

"  But  what  induced  her  to  come  to  you,  Arthur  ?  " 

"  She  said  she  had  so  few  friends  whom  she  could 
trust,  that  she  was  obliged  to  do  so.  '  I  know,'  she 
said,  '  you  are  a  great  friend  of  his,  but  you  have 
always  been  very  kind  to  me.  You  will  be  just,  I 
am  sure;'  and  her  glance  seemed  to  pierce  me,  it 
was  so  searching.  I  told  her  how  much  I  pitied  her, 
and  that  I  would  do  anything  to  assist  her;  'and,' 
I  added,  '  as  a  proof  that  you  trust  me,  you  must 
come  and  stay  with  us.  My  wife  was  speaking, 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN.  295 

only  a  few  days  ago,  of  inviting  you.'  Rather  to 
my  surprise,  she  consented." 

"  Poor  girl !  "  murmured  Dorothy  ;  and  through 
the  evening  the  young  wife  was  very  pensive.  She 
could  not  help  contrasting  her  own  lot  with  hers  to 
whose  sorrows  she  had  just  listened.  For,  indeed, 
with  marriage  a  great  happiness  had  come  to  Doro 
thy.  The  love  of  her  husband  had  grown  to  be  in 
finitely  precious  to  her ;  and  her  own  feeling  toward 
him  sometimes  frightened  her,  it  seemed  so  essen 
tial  to  her  life.  Still,  in  the  midst  of  their  great 
joy  they  often  dwelt  upon  the  world's  strange  in 
equalities,  and  grieved  at  the  ills  of  existence.  The 
old  spirit  of  analysis  and  speculation  continued  to 
possess  them  both,  and  served  to  foster  a  sympathy 
which,  though  at  moments  mystified,  supplied  the 
key-note  of  their  religion.  Their  thoughts  alike 
were  bent  to  do  those  things  in  daily  life  that 
seemed  to  them  healthful  for  intelligent,  progressive 
beings,  and  to  keep  alive  in  their  hearts  a  trust 
that  such  efforts  were  in  unison  with  some  eternal 
system. 

Isabel  Stoughton  came  to  them  a  few  days  later. 
She  was,  indeed,  much  changed,  though  some 
might  have  considered  her  countenance  more  inter 
esting  than  before.  It  had  gained  in  thoughtful- 
ness  and  gravity,  but  was  thinner  ;  and  her  blue 
eyes  seemed  faded.  She  was  silent,  too,  and  a  prey 
to  reverie,  as  though  she  were  pondering  some  vast 
arrears  of  thought,  as  was  indeed  the  case.  So  she 
admitted  at  last  to  Dorothy,  against  whose  sympathy 


296  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

she  did  not  for  long  seek  to  bar  the  door.  The  two 
girls,  so  unlike  and  individual  in  their  respective 
ways,  became  great  friends.  At  the  end  of  the 
fortnight  which  Isabel  passed  with  the  Remingtons,- 
she  resolved  to  lease  for  the  winter  a  pretty  little 
house  adjoining  theirs,  whither  she  moved  her 
baby  and  establishment.  Her  step-mother  was 
anxious  to  have  her  accompany  her  to  Europe  ;  but 
the  other  plan  pleased  Isabel  best. 

As  spring  approached,  they  used  often  to  take 
their  work  into  the  little  garden  which  separated 
their  houses,  and  chat  under  the  warmth  of  the 
mellowing  sunshine.  Dorothy,  whose  deep  convic 
tions  as  to  the  sacredness  of  the  marriage  tie  made 
her  an  eloquent  declaimer  against  divorce,  induced 
her  new-found  friend  at  last  to  withdraw  her  suit. 
Isabel  talked  much  about  the  past  —  the  past  be 
fore  she  came  to  New  York  —  in  a  spirit  of  fond 
reminiscence,  and  yet,  too,  of  criticism.  She  had 
been  happy,  but  she  had  been  wayward  and  head 
strong.  She  would  not  listen  to  dear  Aunt  Mitty, 
whose  angular,  prim  methods  seemed  unlikely  to 
help  her  to  ape  the  superficial  smartness  of  her  vil 
lage  playmates.  Yes,  her  education  had  been  wo- 
f ully  lax  ;  for  after  her  faculties  had  been  sharpened 
by  village  wear  and  tear,  a  polishing  process  was 
tried  by  her  step-mother,  and  with  success,  too, 
in  a  certain  sense,  for  she  had  proved  adaptive. 
But  it  was  only  a  polishing  process.  She  had  been 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  great  world  without 
any  real  knowledge  of  life.  She  had  thought  so 


AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 


little  on  her  own  account,  and  her  conceptions  were 
so  volatile  and  artificial. 

"  I  envy  you,  Dorothy,  your  bringing  up,"  she 
murmured.  "  It  was  so  different  with  me.  None 
of  my  girl  friends  cared  for  books  or  serious  things. 
We  used  always  to  be  making  eyes  at  boys  and 
wishing  for  adventures.  Most  of  them  had  their 
own  way  even  more  than  I  did  ;  for  Aunt  Mitty 
did  her  best  for  me." 

Among  other  subjects,  as  they  grew  more  inti 
mate,  they  came  to  speak  of  Finchley.  Isabel  al 
luded  to  the  fact  of  his  having  written  to  her,  and 
to  numerous  acts  of  kindness  during  the  first  weeks 
of  her  distress. 

"  I  think,  my  dear,  that  man  was  very  much  in 
love  with  you."  Perhaps  a  feminine  love  of  match 
making  caused  a  shadow  of  regret  to  disturb  for  an 
instant  the  complete  serenity  of  Dorothy's  attitude 
toward  divorce;  but  it  was  only  for  an  instant. 
She  was  not  a  woman  who  permitted  instinct  to 
interfere  with  principle. 

Isabel  did  not  reply  at  once.  "  Yes,  Dorothy,  I 
suppose  he  was.  His  letter  was  very  kind.  He 
wrote  that  his  acquaintance  with  me  had  been  the 
greatest  influence  of  his  life  for  good.  It  was  very 
sweet  to  me  to  read  that,  and  to  think  I  had  been  a 
help  to  anybody." 

Doubtless,  as  she  sat  looking  into  the  distance, 
the  thought  passed  through  her  mind  that  she 
might  have  been  happier  with  such  a  man,  and 
that  she  had  sacrificed  his  deep,  honest  love  for  a 


298  AN  AVERAGE   MAN. 

paltry  return.  But  the  involuntary  sad  shake  of  her 
head  which  followed  after  told  that  if  her  heart 
were  to  give  again,  the  sacrifice  would  be  repeated. 
She  loved  her  husband  still  with  all  her  being, 
though  she  would  fain  deny  it  to  herself. 

It  was  Dorothy  who  interrupted  her  reverie. 
"  My  husband  was  speaking  of  Mr.  Finchley  only 
last  night.  He  said  that  he  was  a  victim  to  the 
money-craving  spirit  of  the  day." 

"It  is  true,  Dorothy  ;  and  it  is  true  of  me  equally 
with  him.  I  have  thought  of  that  often  of  late. 
The  past  seems  to  me  a  dream,  as  if  I  had  lived 
without  knowing  it  and  only  just  awaked  to  rec 
ognize  what  I  am.  Oh,  Dorothy,  I  want  to  do 
something  useful  with  my  money.  I  want  to  help 
others  to  avoid  the  misery  I  have  had  to  suffer. 
There  are  so  many  in  the  world  that  need  our 
aid." 

Dorothy  glanced  up  at  her  as  she  spoke,  and  was 
struck  by  the  strength  of  her  expression.  The  firm 
lips  were  tightly  compressed,  and  her  whole  counte 
nance  revealed  an  intense  fervor  of  thought.  In 
stinctively  she  contrasted  the  powerful  vitality  of 
her  friend  with  her  own  more  delicate  organization 
with  almost  a  feeling  of  envy.  The  nervous  vigor 
that  illumined  her  face  might  be  a  potent  factor 
either  for  good  or  for  bad. 

"  This  money  may  turn  out  to  be  a  great  cause 
for  thankfulness,  Isabel.  It  has  come  to  help  you 
bear  your  sorrow.  Only  think  what  good  you  will 
be  able  to  do  with  it." 


AN  AVERAGE  MAN.  299 

The  other  was  silent  for  a  little  after  Dorothy 
had  finished.  "You  mean,"  she  said  quietly,  "you 
believe  that  God  has  sent  me  unhappiness  to  punish 
me,  and  has  given  me  this  money  in  token  of  his 
mercy  ? " 

"  May  it  not  be  so,  dear  ?  "  Recollection  was  in 
the  mind  of  Dorothy,  -as  she  spoke,  of  the  oft- 
repeated  opinions  and  sophistries  of  Woodbury 
Stoughton  in  relation  thereto,  and  in  her  conscien 
tiousness  she  shrank  from  saying  more  than  she 
could  repeat  amen  to  with  all  her  soul.  But  as  the 
wistful  glance  of  the  sad  girl  met  hers,  words  came 
to  her  lips  that  refused  to  be  stemmed  in  their  ut 
terance.  "  I  believe,  dear  Isabel,  that  all  our  afflic 
tions  are  sent  to  us  for  our  good.  We  cannot  now 
understand  many  things,  and  it  is  very,  very  hard 
to  bear  them.  But  we  shall  some  day,  dear.  It 
must  be  so,  —  it  must  be  so." 

The  sweet  voice  trembled  with  sympathy  ;  and 
God  must  have  looked  down  with  tenderness  at 
that  pair  of  earnest  women  upon  whose  faces  were 
written  severally  the  faith  which  springs  from  love 
and  that  groping  after  light  which  is  the  comrade 
of  righteous  anguish.  The  eyes  of  the  sufferer 
filled  with  tears,  yet  she  shook  her  head  mourn 
fully,  gazing  far  into  the  deepening  shadows  of  the 
afternoon,  as  though  life  seemed  only  a  mist  that 
balked  the  straining  sight. 

But  later,  when  they  were  together  in  the  dim 
twilight  of  the  sitting-room,  where  only  the  ticking 
of  the  clock  and  the  whisper  of  the  ashes  marred 


300  AN  AVERAGE  MAN. 

the  solemn  silence,  Isabel  leaned  her  head  upon  the 
shoulder  of  her  friend  and  said,  — 

"  I  would  give  anything  to  feel  as  you  feel,  Doro 
thy  ;  to  be  as  sure  as  you  seem  to  be." 

"They  say,  dear,  that  God's  peace  only  comes 
with  time  and  striving  ;  but  it  will  come,  I  know, 
both  to  you  and  to  me,  if  we  truly  seek  it,"  was  the 
soft  reply. 

"  I  am  trying,  Dorothy,  —  I  am  trying ; "  and  the 
deep  pressure  of  hand  against  hand  told  each  alike 
that  charity,  which  is  a  holier  guest  than  either 
faith  or  hope,  was  present  there. 


THE  END 


University  Press :  John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


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